Tormented Fool
by Silver Harmony
Summary: Set in RotK, Post-WOR (Pre-Grey Havens) AL slash. As Arwen leaves Gondor in grief Aragorn and Legolas are at last presented with the chance to win each other over - though jealousy remains a very dangerous thing...
1. Prologue

**A/N:** My first slashfic. Hope you enjoy. :)

_..._

**Tormented Fool**

_His eyes came to me… and he saw me._

_Our gazes were locked awhile…_

_The song of his sword… it is beautiful._

_He smiles at me, only a little smile. But it is enough to make my entire soul sear with agony. It is my folly that caused all these tears to be shed, and my useless self-centeredness that caused me only to do what I had brought others to do: I can do nothing now but weep, for he will never understand!_

_That smile, it is hardly even there. He kneels and turns his back to me to face his lover. A frown crosses my face as he embraces her and kisses her forehead, comforting her sorrow. Her eyes shine with tears as he strokes her smooth face with his coarse hand…_

_And I… I fly with jealousy._

_My heart is torn apart in grief… a grief as deadly as disease to the race of Men. My bow, it cannot suffice; it gives me no song that is as sweet as his heart can. But because of my icy heart what hope I had left is now gone. It is disallowed… it is forbidden._

_I am tormented, a tormented fool._

_There is no story to share. My soul tears in anguish. I do not desire her… or her… or her. What, with the law of love in these times, there is no one who will not regard me as one who should be ashamed for whom I wish to love; but even if there is someone, it will not mean anything anymore._

_Though the truth is that I am in love with **him**… I am in love with someone who will now never love me in return._

_...  
_

_My eyes came to him… and I saw him._

_Our gazes locked awhile…_

_The glimmer in his eyes… **he** is beautiful._

_I can hardly smile at him. Elbereth, I can hardly smile at all. But I do so anyway… and turn my back to him and weep, for he will never understand…_

_I kneel to embrace and kiss the brow of my Evenstar, and assure her she is safe. I lift her limp body from the ground, taking care not to worsen her wounds, and when I turn, he is gone._

_My heart is torn apart in grief… how I wish grief was as deadly to me as it is to the race of Elves. With two people whom I care for most in the world am I blessed… and cursed. Indeed do I love her as my sister, for she gives me comfort, and her beauty is one that is only ever now told in tales. However it is not she I desire, so that will not suffice. But it is disallowed… it is forbidden._

_Who will respect me now as I rule? Who will see me fit to rule when I am torn apart by my morals and what my heart says should be? They will throw fruit at me. They will hiss and shame me for whom I wish to love, and nothing will mean anything anymore._

_For the truth is that I am in love with **him**… I am in love with someone who has never loved me in return._

_I am tormented, a tormented fool…_

___..._  


'ARAGORN!'

Legolas was jolted out of his sleep and awoke in a cold sweat, seeing at the very first the cold grey roof above the bed in which he lay. Long golden hair clung to his face, and his eyes were wide and astonished, a pale silver-blue in the dark. Drawing a sudden deep breath, he panicked and groped for the trinket that lay against his chest, not able to feel its lightness and hoping against hope that it was there. Relieved to find that it still hung around his neck upon a chain the Elf swept his hair from his cheeks and resumed to ease his stiff body back into the soft covers, using his wake as an advantage to recall exactly what he had just seen in his sleep.

He'd suffered a terrible dream; a sequence of fell visions that he had seen almost every night for quite some time now and always without fail woke him up during the ebony darkness, when the sky was still dark and the stars of Varda glinted against an air that was not yet pale with the grey of morning. He would be roused suddenly from his sleep, sometimes with tears falling from his eyes, and though he did not understand why he would result in staying awake and feeling morose. Each individual image had, with every single dream, passed before his mind's eye so quickly that he could not gaze upon it long enough to decipher it; yet each time the nightmare had managed to raise him from his slumber with the nature of cruel laughter, making him feel exceedingly dispirited and aggrieved.

In his sleep he had seen in a barren place smote with harsh sunlight two thin figures, running and stumbling, weeping with an anguish that seemed would never fade. Blurred figures with flickering torches flew towards them, twice their speed, and they cried with a tortured wail as the passing shadow flogged them and struck them down, leaving them for dead. Then the vision would clear, and the surroundings would soften, white and grey instead of a brutal scorching gold. He would see himself, speaking softly to a slender Elf-like figure, who would teasingly stroke his face and draw him into a tender kiss. He would melt into the warm body that held him, and happiness would fill his soul. But not for long…

Suddenly he could feel fierce hatred pouring into his heart, and he would see a different figure before him; one that was more athletic, yet lithe and light-footed nonetheless. The person was tall and proud, noble and young; the very thought of him filled Legolas with loathing, and he would see himself flailing the harmless figure. An intense pleasure would sweep over him as he saw the individual being mortally blown by his own hand, and though his conscious mind told him to stop, his dream self would disagree, enjoying the ritual too much to stay his hand.

A choked sob would escape the wounded figure, and as the scenery changed into a garden of springy turf he would trip and slide backward into a unusual black abyss abnormal to the rest of the landscape, reaching out to grasp only air and wail with a lamenting cry like that of the dying. Legolas would back away from the chasm and laugh as he saw the dark figure descend, yet turn around and see him again seated against a white wall inside a house, covered in blood. Suddenly the shape of the person changed; his dark hair grew longer and his frame more slender and graceful, and Legolas realized at once that the despised person he had wounded before had metamorphosed into one Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond of Rivendell, who sobbed as blood trickled down her face and her arms that reached out to him in plea.

He wondered where the first person was, and how he had turned into an Elven maiden, and turning around saw that he stood immediately behind. The figure would only stare at him for a moment and smile, before walking past him to Arwen to do the same. Saying a bleary farewell his shape drew backwards, as if he was hovering on air and not using his feet, and in an unhurried motion drifted further and further away – leaving a trail of gruesome blood as he did so – until he could not be seen by either Legolas _or_ Arwen. They looked upon the vanishing figure, and both would suddenly cry out one name that clearly told Legolas who the figure was: 'ARAGORN!'

He would wake and instantly realize his dream and, remembering each time he was jerked from his rest, covered his sad eyes with his palms. He guessed that he had a reason to be given such a fell nightmare, especially ever since he realized exactly how he felt, and was driven mad with fear and shame. And also, above all things, jealousy. It was not unnatural to him that he would gaze upon Aragorn with wonder, struck by awe at his tall, handsome body, and praying that he could have it. Not to have it, that is, as in wishing that his own figure was just like Aragorn's. No, he yearned a different way.

'…So foolish of me,' he suddenly whispered aloud, a flush spreading across his fair Elven cheeks as he did so. He wrinkled his nose and turned gruffly to his side, swishing the blanket in an irritable fashion to cover himself more as he did so. Too deep in his own thoughts, he did not notice his best friend on the other side of the room stirring, giving a loud yawn and stretching his stout arms.

'What did you say Legolas?' he asked, his usually boisterous voice tinged with drowsiness. Legolas shot his head up in surprise and looked at his friend sprawled on the bed not so far away, and frowned with a slight cringe, hoping that the Dwarf had not heard anything that had involuntarily escaped his teeth.

'Nothing, Gimli. Go back to sleep,' said Legolas almost coldly, although he did not mean to speak in such a way. Gimli turned and gazed at the Elf, wrapped in his blankets and facing the opposite direction, looking very comfortable and yet annoyed.

Gimli knew that the Elf had been for some time distressed, waking at night and not returning to sleep. And indeed he had heard everything Legolas had said, for he himself could only _pretend_ to sleep with his concern for such a close friend. He had noticed that the Elf would make many sounds in his sleep, ranging from an uneasy whimper to an anguished wail, and sometimes even one small moan filled with seduction and sensuality. But every night he had suffered his dark unknown nightmares since the first time this had occurred, those sounds would end with one cry: 'ARAGORN!' and Legolas would wake, often weeping and distraught.

Suddenly Gimli heard a faint hiccup from the other side of the room, and he knew instantly that Legolas was crying again. In the midst of the choked sniffles he could hear the Elf uttering Aragorn's Elven name _Estel_, hardly audible, but Gimli had heard it for sure. And whether Legolas thought that Gimli knew not the name of Estel, or that he was whispering quietly enough for only himself to hear, the Dwarf did not know.

But either way, Legolas' assumptions would be wrong.

(end prologue)


	2. A Hidden Trinket

**A/N:** I'm very proud that one of my readers had described my writing as Tolkienesque, which is fantastic. They said this in a review for… I think it was the third or fourth chapter (I am writing this A/N about a year after I first uploaded this chapter on lol). This is what I wanted to clarify with you: this chapter is quite Tolkienesque in the non-writing-style sense – i.e. the storytelling sort of sense. It even includes bits and pieces from the book itself. So please enjoy, and all feedback is appreciated. Thanks. :)

_..._

**TORMENTED FOOL 1: A HIDDEN TRINKET**

It had only been mere months since the full passing of Sauron, when the One Ring was cast into the fires of Orodruin and the black tower of Barad-Dûr fell to its crumbling waste. The Shadow was lifted, and fear and doubt relinquished in the hearts of those that despaired; hope had succeeded, and the new safety of the Free-Peoples of Middle-Earth arisen. The Nazgûl had fled, and the hosts of Mordor were grasped by dread and panic whilst the land quaked in Gorgoroth and the blazing flames of Mount Doom gushed out. The Shadow was defeated, the Ringbearer had prevailed, and there was none else a power so frightening that could take Sauron's place and cause so much misfortune for Middle-Earth again.

When peace was finally ensured Aragorn son of Arathorn – the Elfstone, Elessar heir of Isildur – returned to claim his title and was crowned King of Men. It was a great and pleasing ceremony, and Frodo the Ringbearer and the rest of the Fellowship remained awhile at the city of the new King, for Aragorn cared for his friends and did not want the Fellowship to be disperse so soon after their grand quest.

So he came to his friends where they dwelt in the fair house that he gave to them, and sat down amongst them whilst they ate, to them barely suggesting himself to be a King but openly more of a friend. And doing this he spoke of his trouble, and pleaded them to stay. 'At last all such things must end,' he said, 'but I would have you wait a little while longer. A day draws near that I have looked for in all the years of my manhood, and when it comes I would have my friends beside me.'

This made Frodo curious, and he turned to the other Halflings of the Fellowship seated at the table with him; Samwise, Meriadoc, and Peregrin, who all raised their eyebrows at him and shrugged cluelessly. His eyes passed to the Dwarf seated next to Peregrin, Gimli son of Glóin, who was greedily taking a swig of some kind of draught provided by the servants of Minas Tirith – he only smirked at the little Hobbit and allowed a naughty gleam to flicker in his eyes. Still a little puzzled, Frodo turned his eyes to the golden-haired figure sitting next to Gimli, but Legolas, the Elven Prince, was not looking at him. He only ate, a little at a time at that – and looked as though he hardly heeded Aragorn's words.

Frodo turned to Gandalf the Wizard sitting alongside him, smoking pipe-weed as always, and spoke to him in a low whisper. 'Do you know what this day is that Aragorn speaks of? For we are happy here, and I don't wish to go; but Bilbo is waiting, and the Shire is my home.'

Gandalf turned a smile of slight fondness at the little one, leaning over to the Hobbit's ear. 'As for Bilbo,' he muttered softly, 'he is waiting for the same day.'

But neither Aragorn nor Gandalf would say more of this day, and Frodo frowned in confusion at his fellow Hobbits. All they did was give a stupid grin and raise their eyebrows once again; and seeing this Gimli sniggered under his breath, causing the four Halflings to look at him completely perplexed. He shrugged sarcastically, if that was possible, and failing to stifle his amusement he joined the Hobbits in merry yet suppressed laughter caught with inelegant snorts.

'What is so funny?' asked Aragorn, slightly entertained at his friends' tittering. Gimli burst into a fit of chortling at this point, almost falling off his chair in his great laughter.

'Ha ha ha! I don't have a clue!' he roared in hilarity, almost wheezing from lack of breath.

Gandalf shook his head. 'Dear little children,' he mumbled to himself, although his words were clear to everyone else. 'There is always something that makes them laugh, even though there is nothing noticeably funny. Though that is a pleasing thing after such a weary crusade.'

Gimli saw the Elf beside him out of the corner of his eye, hardly moving at all, and whirled around on his chair. 'C'mon Legolas, don't be so down!' he turned with a huge grin, about to slap the back of his best friend next to him. But suddenly he stopped, for what met him was a sight that he had not seen even during the War of the Ring.

Legolas' head was down, and a shadow seemed to have formed over him – yet his face at this point was beyond the fairness of his Elven kin, being so white that he seemed almost sickly. His long golden hair, always pale and glimmering, hung below his shoulders; but indeed they only seemed to hang, frail and stringy, not cascading as a waterfall of honey the way it usually would with a glisten like no other. He held an almost whole piece of bread in his hand – the same piece that he had now been eating for over an hour – but he nibbled at it no more and only gazed at it, and his eyes were empty, filled with shimmering hue and yet almost fogged, as if a mist clouded it. This confounded his friends, for even in the War he seemed bright and without anxiety, but now that there was nothing to fear, he seemed to fear something. A hint of sorrow was planted subtly upon his brow.

Gimli paused, his hand still in the air, for Legolas' expression had so shocked him that he could hardly move the hand to clap his comrade on the back. He gazed quickly at Gandalf and Frodo, then at the other three Hobbits, then at Aragorn; with eyes wide open they all only stared back in bewilderment, not understanding what was happening.

'Legolas?' asked Aragorn slowly, tilting his head to get a clearer view of the Elf's eyes. The mention of his name roused him into alertness, and the fog from his eyes suddenly cleared; he stood quickly before Aragorn touched his shoulder, placing his piece of bread on the table.

'Forgive me, I have not had much sleep recently,' he smiled weakly, although whether it was genuine or forced, his companions could not tell. 'I do not have the strength to join you in your pleasure in jests, as much as I desire to. Perhaps a little sleep will do me good, so I shall go and do just that. 'Night, my friends.'

'…'Tis day, Legolas.'

'Oh, you know what I mean.'

And giving his friends a small wave, hardly perceivable, he turned away and dragged himself from the room. Gimli looked at the slouched Elf, no longer poised with rhythm and grace. Then he glanced briefly at the alarmed look on his friends' faces, before narrowing his eyes, his heart filled with suspicion.

_..._

It had been days since the two slim figures first set foot upon the sand, still determined but on the very brink of defeat, hope burning as a small flame in their souls. Only several moons had passed and already they had journeyed many leagues northward, suffering much torment and misery. Both Elves were hungry, exhausted, and their hearts were heavy and wished for rest. The golden-haired Elf tripped on the protruding rock that lay in her way and fell to her knees before it – but instead of rising at that instant she just knelt there, not caring where she was or who would be watching her, if any. Overcome with weariness at last, she burst into tears of silver hue: white drops of dew, small and fair, that caught the heart of her lone companion beside her.

'Come now, my beautiful one,' he said gently, touching her arm. 'Only a few more leagues, and we will be out of this unhappy place. Or, to be honest, so I hope…'

The female Elf nodded and rose slowly, rubbing the teardrops from her eyes. 'I do not fear this place,' she explained, 'I only weep because I am spent. I am the Lady of the Sands, and this desert does not dismay me. Surely you remember that!'

'Of course, my Lady,' the male Elf replied in haste, sweeping wisps of his long dark hair behind his ears. It was a nervous gesture that she had come to recognize, one which told her that he was not, in actual fact, sure of what he was saying. 'It may be so that I know not where the nearest city could be, but hope does not falter that we shall perhaps find it soon. Though I fear that if we do not, we may end up dead from hunger…'

_..._

'How can you say that you may end up dead from hunger!' Gimli shook his head in disbelief, glaring through wide, bewildered eyes. 'You cannot seriously be hungry again! You only just ate!'

'That was two hours ago, my dear Gimli,' smirked Peregrin, 'and we Hobbits prefer to survive on six meals a day, or more. We get hungry often, and therefore we eat much. Two hours is far too long a time without good old solid food to satisfy a grumbling stomach, ain't that right Merry?'

'Precisely!' Meriadoc replied instantly, rubbing his tummy. 'Come, Pippin. We must go and get the food, lest we end up starved.'

'Aragorn and the rest of the kingdom will end up starved, at the rate that you are eating,' Gimli muttered, scratching the back of his head as he sat down on a random cushion that had been lying on the floor. Frodo gave a laugh, clapping the Dwarf understandingly on the back.

'Well at least Sam and I, who are also fellow Hobbits, don't tend to eat _that_ much,' he grinned, looking at Samwise alongside him. Sam had only just begun sighing in despair at the sight of Merry and Pippin foraging inside the room, looking much like starved Wargs.

Suddenly Gimli and Frodo caught a glimpse of Legolas seated on the floor against the sheer white wall, quite a fair distance from where they themselves were sitting. He was not sleeping as he had said he would, but wide awake and staring at the space before him, with eyes as empty as the air. Frodo frowned as he gazed at the Mirkwood Prince who seemed so drunken that he was beginning to doubt that the Elf only _looked_ that way, and lowering his voice to a mutter spoke worriedly to the Dwarf.

'And from the looks of it, neither does he.'

'I wonder what's wrong with him,' Gimli whispered back, then averted his gaze as his attention was caught by Merry and Pippin cheering at the unearthing of dried fruit. Gimli and Frodo stared and blinked for a moment, not wanting to know _where_ the fruit had been found, and sighed together in utter frustration before both of them fell onto each other's shoulders wearily. As soon as they leant against one another their eyes involuntarily turned to the Elf sitting directly in their line of sight, perpendicular to them, and it seemed as they glanced at him that there was a strange silver light glittering from his open hand. Completely turning their attentive stare to him their eyes now spied a small shimmering object laid upon his palm, like a single gleaming star in the pale night sky. The sparkle was beautiful to them, and long caught their attention before making them react in unison.

'What's that, Legolas?' they chorused. The golden-haired Elf stirred slightly upon hearing his name, and instantly pocketed the shiny object that he had been holding.

'Nothing,' he answered, shaking his head. 'Just a ring that I had purchased on my way to the White Tower quite a while before the Coronation.'

'Really? Where did you get it from?' asked Merry, making Legolas flinch slightly in disgust as he opened his mouth to reveal the chewed-up fruit. Legolas did not reply, and bowed his head in ignorance, hoping that he could get away with answering nothing. But it was hardly a few seconds afterwards that Legolas raised his head to find Gimli's hand in his pocket, and he gave a cry of protest whilst trying to writhe away from the curious fingers, fearing that the situation looked so very eyebrow-raisingly wrong.

'GIMLI!' whined Legolas as he raised a hand, ready to slap the Dwarf's. But Gimli was hardly listening as he tugged on Legolas' cloak (or was more precisely tugging _off_ Legolas' cloak), whilst Frodo leisurely threw himself on his stomach upon the Elf's lap, just for his own amusement.

'A ring, did you say?' said Gimli to himself, even though it was subconsciously a question to his best friend. 'Hmm. That luster. I'm so sure…'

'What's so important, Gimli?' asked Frodo inquisitively, intrigued by the tone in Gimli's voice. Legolas' eye began to twitch as he peered at the two… intruders, losing his patience at the weight (albeit not so heavy) of the Hobbit that lay across his lap and the meddlesome Dwarf whose hand was buried inside _his_ clothes, wriggling and squirming about.

'Beg pardon, my dear friends,' Legolas began with a wavering voice, lowering his raised hand and hoping he would not need to lift it again for any smacking. 'But I…'

'Found it!' Gimli snatched his clenched fist out of Legolas' robes, and instantly Frodo sprang up, knocking the poor Elf aside. Sam, along with Merry and Pippin with their mouths full of food, rushed over to see what all the fussing _was_ about, crowding around Gimli who opened his fist slowly to cup the tiny ornament in his stout hands.

It was a fair silver ring, lean and splendid, perhaps only fit for a slender finger. It was composed of three curved bands of an almost white radiant metal, twisted around one another to make the likeness of a small Elvish circlet, remaining finely detailed all the way around without widening on one side as was most rings adorned with a stone. On the front side was overlaid an intricate unknown shape, a form with a long bowed neck and great white wings on either side, on whose broad breast was fastened a minute white stone glistening like starlight on Gimli's palms.

'I knew it!' cried the Dwarf in satisfaction, fingering the rounded silver metal. 'Mithril. I thought so! I thought I knew that glint!'

'Ooh, it's very lovely,' Sam gushed in appreciation. 'What's that for?'

To their surprise Legolas bowed his head and half-closed his eyes, turning once again pale and glum. The four Hobbits and the Dwarf frowned as they looked at the strangely troubled Elf, for his expression made him look so sad, and sorrow itself entered their hearts as well whenever they eyed him.

'Legolas—'

'It was meant to be a gift… a very priceless gift that had cost me a fortune,' said Legolas quickly, seizing the ring from Gimli's cupped hands. 'I had meant to save it… that is, until I could come to the White Tower, anyway. Because… it was a gift for someone very special…'

'What… happened?' asked Pippin, his eyes shining with youth and innocence. Just to amuse himself he knew that he and the others – or at least Gimli anyway – would have easily taunted the Elf for such a thing, but there was something in Legolas' voice that stopped them. Whether it was sorrow, or doubt, or anger, he could not tell – but something just sounded not right…

'Oh, nothing. I merely resulted in deciding to keep it, that's all,' Legolas laughed in a false sort of way, quite apparent to the five around him. Then he lowered his head, and it seemed at that very moment that a hideous black shadow had slowly crawled into vision, tainting his fair face. In a whisper that the others almost could not hear he muttered angrily under his breath, 'I had just forgotten one _minor_ detail.'

With that the sudden darkness was lifted from his eyes, and he smiled – the way he usually would when he was happy – as he stroked the precious jewel, not realizing that his companions had heard his final words. Yet it seemed, as the five bewildered figures looked at him neutrally fondling his treasure, that even _he_ did not hear what had just escaped his tongue.

Aragorn had had a brief recess from his mounting paperwork concerning trade and exports and, upon the intention of momentarily visiting his friends, he had heard every word that they had spoken, arriving at the door as soon as Legolas had explained his intentions of the ring. The moment he heard Legolas' voice from the door and the note of pessimism that had been threaded through it, he had halted in his very space behind the door and had hidden secretly behind it. Hearing his friends' words, he frowned and placed a baffled hand upon his brow, before walking away with a curiously odd feeling stirring inside.

(To be continued)


	3. Drunkenness

**A/N:** I wrote this chapter LONG before the movie came out, but I'm writing this note to remind those who haven't read the book that the book is different from the movie. Arwen comes to Minas Tirith not on the day of the coronation, like in the movie, but quite some time afterward. I just had to clarify that, in case I get any reviews telling me that Arwen was supposed to be present at Aragorn's coronation ;) Thanks and enjoy.

...

**TORMENTED FOOL 2: DRUNKENNESS**

Mid-year's day finally arrived; the day that Aragorn had long been waiting for. Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar, came to Minas Tirith with her father, her brothers, and also her grandparents; and on that beautiful day Aragorn took the hand of the fair Lady and they were wed, bound together as the third reunion in history of the Eldar and the Edain.

It was a grand ceremony, and many were happy, for their King and for themselves; particularly those who were of the Nine Walkers. Frodo finally understood what Aragorn had anticipated in the last days, and after the wedding a grand ball was held, at which guests ate and drank and praised the King and his new Queen. All were happy and danced to music of merriment; even the Hobbits, for Pippin truly enjoyed the night forcefully dragging Frodo across the smooth white floor, whilst Sam and Merry linked arms with Gimli and spun him round and round against his permission until they were all dizzy and faint.

At this feast, Frodo sat with Legolas and the pair spoke together about their adventures throughout the war. Although Legolas was for the most part rather quiet, he shared much of his experiences and knowledge with the Hobbit, who appreciated it wholeheartedly. They laughed together and formed a bond, and Frodo was glad to see the Elf less despondent when distracted from his troubles.

When the guest numbers had decreased greatly and there was hardly any more than twenty, they all calmed down a little and sat down together in conversation instead, easing themselves into the exquisite house that Aragorn had given to the Fellowship. There they rested and talked and laughed; for though the day was over and the night was pale in the light of the cold moon, they could not sleep, and the recent events concerning Aragorn and Arwen excited and pleased them all too much to surrender to peaceful slumber.

'At last I understand why we have waited!' laughed Frodo to Gandalf, his cheeks flushed with joy. 'This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass away!'

'You have a gift with words, Frodo,' Arwen smiled, for she heard what Frodo had spoken, and considered it a great compliment. 'Yet I must say that it was in your own grace that these words are true.'

Aragorn grinned and squeezed his wife's hand as he turned a cheerful gaze onto all his companions, in particular a young Hobbit. 'But everyone here also played a part, so think not that you had been only useless luggage, Merry.'

A hard red blush crashed suddenly onto Merry's cheeks. 'You always manage to find out what is on my mind, don't you?'

'Somehow,' Aragorn laughed, and looked upon his comrades with fondness and love. 'And whilst I speak of everyone playing a part, I notice that indeed not everyone is here. Tell me, would anyone know where Legolas could be?'

Hearing these words the Hobbits fell silent, and they looked at each other gravely. Their eyes pierced one another, as if having a spiritualistic conversation that no one else could hear; and at once Merry, Pippin and Sam began to nudge Frodo, as though it was his obligation to speak. But Frodo hesitated and cringed a little, urging the three Hobbits to stop.

'Frodo?' Arwen asked, concerned at the expression on the Halfling's face. Frodo shot a glare at his three friends, curling his mouth in displeasure, before once more turning and humbling himself in the presence of the Queen.

'We… uh… well, he was a little down,' stuttered Frodo, trying to find the right words to say. 'You know how he's been since the end of the War; well, that's how he was, 'cept perhaps a little more extreme. He refused to speak to anyone, let alone eat – but he drank some wine, I must say; a lot of wine. A _great amount_ of wine.'

'A great amount of wine?' questioned Aragorn incredulously, as though what Frodo had just said was a reference to a very life-threatening situation. 'Is he alright? Where is he?'

Gimli cleared his throat, as though he were confidentially asking permission to interrupt the conversations of such High Elves and Men; and it worked, for everyone in the room curiously turned their eyes to him. At this he scratched the back of his head and muttered to himself for one brief moment.

'Well,' he spoke hesitantly, 'The last time I saw him was in the hall where we had the feast, and he told me at the time that he'd consumed three chalices of wine already. I did ask him to stop, mind you, before any of you begin to drop your jaws to call me irresponsible; but he said that it did not affect him, and in truth he _did_ look quite healthy, save for that constant frown. But Aragorn, I must tell you this: I've been thinking for some time that the cause of all this misery is you.'

'Me?' the King protested in disbelief, not understanding what the Dwarf was saying. 'Why would you think that? Legolas and I are perpetually the best of friends, and I have done naught to upset him; at least not to my reckoning.'

'I can't say yet,' Gimli replied, 'but perhaps you can find him and ask him yourself. Because it is certain now that he would not tell even me.'

Aragorn caught the eye of the Dwarf, whose expression was the same as the Hobbits and his wife: concerned, grave, and anxious. Gandalf attempted to retain an air of uninvolvement; but in his eyes worry was clearly seen, and he would not look at Aragorn, as if he knew something that the Man did not.

At last his eyes passed to Galadriel the White Lady of Lórien, grandmother to Arwen his new wife, who as ever looked more neutral than Gandalf did. She looked with blank eyes at the King, yet it was perceptible to Aragorn that she seemingly also knew something he did not. After they locked gazes for a fleeting moment Galadriel turned her eyes to the door of the house, then back at Aragorn; Aragorn understood, shocked by the slight pleading look that he had been given, and rose to find Legolas.

_I've been thinking for some time that the cause of all this misery is you…_ Gimli's words returned to Aragorn's mind, as he fled the room and returned to the main structure of Minas Tirith. _What could it be, Legolas? What am I doing that causes you sorrow, and how do I stop it?_

When Aragorn returned to the hall, a woeful sight met him; Legolas was still seated at the feast table – _alone _– and he almost slapped his own head for overlooking the Elf, especially when he was in this condition. His head was down and he looked asleep, yet Aragorn could see from his clear eyes that he was not, and he held a golden cup filled with wine. But he was not drinking from it, and it was tilted clumsily in his hand, about to send a stream of red onto the white floor.

Aragorn frowned, for he knew that Legolas had noticed him come into the room, yet he remained still as though he did not care that someone was there. Not even a stir had come from him, the acknowledgement that a figure had passed in. Aragorn sighed and slipped agilely behind the table, seating himself down next to the Elven Prince.

'Legolas,' he said gently, using as tender a voice as he could concoct. 'Are you alright?'

No answer.

This made Aragorn frown again, and though he bristled a little with annoyance, he tried not to show it; after all, his companion was down, and it was his duty as one of Legolas' closest friends to be there for him when the comfort was needed. The golden chalice slipped even more from the Elf's pale hand, and Aragorn stretched over his right arm, trying to grasp the cup from the hold of Legolas who now sat on his left.

'Here, I will take that, and I shall take you to your room. Is that alright?' said Aragorn, and whilst catching the cup in his own hand accidently brushed against the fingers of Legolas'. Immediately the Elf responded in a way that the young King had not expected; he blushed and stirred, and set himself upright, once more seizing the goblet from Aragorn's clutch.

'I am fine, Aragorn. I will not become intoxicated merely from these draughts, not unless I drink enough wine in one day for many weeks. You need not worry whether I sleep or not; I am older than you, and furthermore no child. Go find Arwen, and go to sleep.'

'But neither Arwen nor I are sleepy, let alone the Hobbits or the Dwarf,' Aragorn weakly jested, though he knew it would not raise the Elf's spirits anyway. 'Do tell me what is wrong, Legolas. I do not like to see you like this. You are my best friend, and I worry about you.'

_Best friend. I am his best friend._

'No more drink, Legolas,' stated Aragorn firmly, reaching for the cup again. 'Please. Let me take this from you. Now, tell me what is wrong, and if it is what you desire I shall give my word not to open my mouth to anyone who is presently outside this room.'

Unexpectedly (though fortunately), Legolas did let Aragorn take the wine from him this time, and let out a sigh so sorrowful that it broke his own heart. 'You know, perhaps I should leave Minas Tirith. This is the day you have waited for; you and Arwen are wed, now we should all return home. I do not belong here.'

Aragorn was leisurely taking a sip from Legolas' cup himself, but stopped when the words escaped the Elf's clenched teeth.

'I am loth for the remaining eight of the Nine Walkers to separate,' he objected, sounding almost childish. 'I know it is right to allow you all to return to your homes, but if it is in your will, I would like to ask you to remain here longer. You know well that we are all close comrades, and I have grown to love each and every one of you.'

_Grown to love… each and every one. Even me._

Aragorn took another swig and completely ingested all the wine that was left in the goblet, and wrinkled his nose as he wiped his mouth; the experience was strange to him, for he did not drink this during the feast and had not expected it to be as potent as it was. Nonetheless he extended a hand across the almost-cleared table and reached for a flask in the midst, strangely enjoying the wine of which he now poured some more into the cup.

'In fact,' he continued after taking another mouthful, 'I want to prove to you how much I mean that. If you weren't in much of a hurry, I would not mind at all having you as my advisor.'

Legolas wrinkled his brow. 'Your advisor? How does that show this supposed _love_?'

'Hmmm… not too sure,' Aragorn replied ungracefully, his eyes wavering. 'You are a nice companion, I like having you by my side. In fact, I shall declare it so. Though a King has several advisors, you shall be my most important: you shall be, and I name you now, my Chief Advisor.'

Suddenly Legolas gasped and finally turned his eyes to Aragorn, for this declaration was made by the King himself; and this would mean that it was official, and that now he could not depart from Gondor without the foolish Man's leave.

'Estel!' he wailed, overtaken in its extremity by distress.

Aragorn swallowed the remnant of his drink, wrinkling his nose again, and tilted his head to gaze at Legolas whilst he proceeded to pour some more wine into the chalice. 'What is wrong, are you not glad?'

'Of course not!' the Elf cried, practically having to restrain himself from slapping the King. 'You have just declared me your Chief Advisor against my will. That means I have an obligation to remain here where Earth is like Hell of Morgoth to me, had you no thought of that! Or, perhaps its intensity would be less than that of Udûn, if it were not for the fact that I am now trapped here under the grasp of my duty!'

Aragorn laughed clumsily and quickly put the cup to his mouth, for he had not noticed that it had been overfilled and had allowed the sticky red fluid to run over his fingers that held the goblet. To the shock of both the chalice suddenly dropped from his hand onto the floor after he had drunk all the wine, making Aragorn laugh uncontrollably even more. Legolas raised his eyebrows in astonishment; but the Man only laughed and clapped the Elf on the shoulder.

'Forgive me for my lack of refinement, I am graceless,' he grinned as he struggled to refocus his eyes, and bent down to retrieve the goblet that had rolled away not too far a distance from him; but to Legolas' surprise the Man could not find it. Aragorn proceeded to feel the ground all about the cup which was directly in front of him, but he never touched the object itself, for before his eyes he saw many.

Legolas gave a groan, and bent down and grasped it before Aragorn could find it. 'Oh, forget it,' he muttered, trying to accept Aragorn's declaration and hoping that he would undo the formal statement once he was sober. 'And what was this about you telling _me_ to drink no more? …But what on Middle-Earth is wrong with _you_? Usually eight draughts of wine would hardly make you sway; but now you stumble and you aren't even on your feet.'

'More than usual, i- it's very strong,' the King slurred, falling upon the Elf's shoulder. Feeling the soft golden hair beneath his head, he smiled and cuddled closer. 'Hmm, you're soft. And you smell good.'

Legolas looked at the King whose head rested against him, looking very comfortable, with a grin almost like that of a little child. A grief came upon Legolas suddenly, for he could not deny it to himself; he loved Aragorn and wished that the Man would return such feelings, even though there was no hope in that now. Aragorn and Arwen were wed, and there was nothing he could do that would change the inevitable. All of a sudden Aragorn's warm touch became undesirable, and Legolas moved away, sliding the head off his shoulder.

'Ohh, pity,' the Man frowned, forcing himself to sit upright once more. 'I liked leaning on you. You feel nice. And,' he blinked his eyes rapidly for a moment, 'You're very beautiful. May I ask your name, Lady?'

The Elf suppressed the urge to smack his forehead repeatedly against the table. 'Aragorn, you have clearly had too much to drink. Come, you should go to your room before Arwen worries; I will help you to bed, if you cannot get there yourself.'

Legolas stood and held out a hand, expecting the Human to pull himself up and obediently follow, but what happened next was beyond anything he had expected to occur. Aragorn also stood, but caught the slender arm and pulled the young Prince back – and although his eyes were quaking slightly, they were clearly focused on the Elf's. Legolas felt his face become hot, though he knew well that Aragorn was presently intoxicated; but he could not draw his eyes away from Aragorn's gaze, and his heart seared with a feeling he could not understand – sadness, or anger, or pity – when the King gave a small fond smile, caring although slightly impish as well.

'Go to bed, hmm?'

'Aragorn, that is not what I meant,' Legolas shook his head, though he wished he could freely even _think_ of agreeing to what Aragorn was saying. Aragorn was forced to suppress his laughter as he saw the mixed emotions of refusal and desire, which quickly disappeared when the Elf noticed how mischievous he looked. 'This is your wedding night, remember?'

'Wedding?' asked Aragorn confusedly, and all of a sudden the smirk vanished from his face. 'With who?'

'With Arwen!' Legolas hissed in irritation, and at once he realized that all the hatred and anger within him was poured forth with the cry of that one name. It shocked him, and he burst into tears; though he did not understand why, for he did not even feel grieved enough to release them. He sighed deeply and raised a finger to wipe them away, but Aragorn swiftly lifted his own hand and brushed the pale Elven cheeks first, making Legolas slant his eyebrows with a perceivable solid remorse.

'Let's not think about that right now,' Aragorn whispered as Legolas closed his eyes and breathed, torn between anguish and enjoyment of the touch. There was a small silence as Aragorn allowed Legolas be for a small moment, beginning to understand the cause of his pain even through his slight drunkenness.

When the Elf opened his eyes, he was met by a passionate kiss, fiery with fervor and yet tender; and though he felt slightly guilty of it he wrapped his arms around Aragorn and drew him closer, sealing the small gap between them. For the first time since the end of the War, Legolas ceased his frowning even as he continued to kiss the slightly taller Estel, for he was doing that which he longed – and had dreamed he would never feel.

(To be continued)


	4. Lechery And Intoxication

**TORMENTED FOOL 3: LECHERY AND INTOXICATION**

Queen Arwen was, at this stage, unquestionably not less than very worried. It had been almost a whole hour since Aragorn her husband first fled from the room to search for his best friend, whom he had been told was _very_ downhearted; and ever since the King had left, the room grew ever more silent. It began with her grandmother Galadriel and the Wizard Gandalf; not even a word had been spoken by either of the two after Aragorn's departure, and their heads were bowed. They did not look at anyone – not even each other, though it was quite clear from the cloudiness in their eyes that both knew something was happening or perhaps even something _about_ whatever was happening, something of which no one else had knowledge.

And, thereafter, it continued to worsen in awkwardness. At the silence of Galadriel and Gandalf, Elrond the father of the Evenstar eventually quieted into thought, looking at the thin air with an empty expression that seemed almost to make the swirl in his eyes transparent; Elladan and Elrohir her brothers turned voiceless with discomfort, passing uneasy glances between the quiet ones and each other. Lord Celeborn was strangely bent over in his chair like an elderly man, his elbows upon his knees and his head buried in his hands. Frodo was clearly riddled with unrest, his gaze distracted and his jittery teeth chewing restlessly at the end of one of his fingers as his eyes narrowed more and more; Sam had one worried hand on his companion's shoulder, whilst Merry and Pippin attempted to thwart such disquiet by taking no part in it and staring helplessly at the roof.

Finally, with the definite fact that it did not escape his notice that everyone had turned mute, Gimli sprang up onto his stout legs and placed his hands on his hips disapprovingly. 'And what plague is this that takes the voices of those who only one hour before were chattering in delight of the marriage of the King and Queen?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Aragorn and Legolas have not returned, 'tis true; but perhaps they are speaking to one another. And if there is anything Legolas needs now, it would be to share his burdens with another who will listen; and we all know the King of Gondor possesses such comfort.'

Arwen raised her eyes darkly. 'Your words do little to ease me, Gimli son of Glóin; for now I am and shall remain unquiet. Something in my mind stirs with wariness. Perhaps I shall search for my beloved husband now, for my soul warns me of something which I myself do not quite know—'

At this, Galadriel and Gandalf both slowly raised their bowed heads; suddenly, with this gradual movement from those who had been still for so long, the whole room began to stir and the spine-chilling silence began to dissolve as all turned their eyes to the golden-haired Elf-Queen and the Maia Wizard.

'Perhaps you should for now let them be, Undómiel,' Galadriel spoke cautiously. 'My heart forebodes that something is currently in the air that none of us here expect – and perhaps if you allow Legolas and the King to act upon it without interference, it may end in being much better on your part.'

'On my part?' Arwen asked confusedly. 'I am worried for my husband, not for myself; there is nothing currently involving _me_ that would be of concern. And why do you say such a thing? Will you not tell me what you know, Grandmother?'

The Lady of Lothlórien bowed her head once more, and said nothing. Her granddaughter frowned, dissatisfied with such a response. And though Arwen had in her life always been patient, suddenly a fire burned within her that she was urged to answer to; she nodded to herself, stood from her seat and ran out of the room, so suddenly, at such a speed to outrun even her enduring lover, that she seemed to have vanished before anyone could stop her.

'Arwen!' Galadriel stood suddenly, roused, futilely reaching out a hand to the young one who bolted quickly past her. And though she inched forward and made ready for chase, Gandalf beside her laid a hand upon her shoulder, and shook his head; after a very long moment the golden-haired Elf, defeated, returned to her seat and placed a hand upon her brow in despair, fearing utterly the worst.

...

Neither Aragorn nor Legolas were in the hall where the great feast had been held, and now panic warred in the Gondorian Queen with even more intensity than before. When she arrived, the great room was uninhabited and quiet with an atmosphere far more uneasy compared to the silence in the fire-room of the Fellowship's fair house, for Arwen was now alone in the dark. A sudden gust of wind, assailing from a nearby open window, surged into the room and extinguished the last candle that flickered; all the more dark did the night seem to feel now that the Queen was surrounded by blackness, and it did not comfort her that she was now wedded to her beloved and that tonight she would spend her first night…

…Alone with her lover in his chambers.

For he was not even found. He had been lost in the pursuit of another, and now the dark-haired Elf could not find him. The shadows loomed even murkier than before, so dark that even Arwen's keen Elven eyes found it difficult to pierce them. Walking over slowly to the great feast table to avoid being injured in her state of sightlessness, she noticed that there were two blurred shapes protruding out of the darkness. A gentle hand ran over each object, reading them with her fingertips: almost at once she realized that the first shape she touched was a chalice, and the second a flask of wine.

_He refused to speak to anyone, let alone eat – but he drank some wine, I must say; a lot of wine. A **great amount** of wine…_

Suddenly, a knot formed in Arwen's stomach; taking the chalice suspiciously, she poured a little of the wine and took a lengthy sip. And as she feared, it was one of the more potent Elvish wines served especially in weddings and other great banquets and occasions; it rushed straight to her head, like a mortal blow from a silent ambush. If Legolas had been drinking great amounts of this, as Frodo had hesitantly spoken of, then perhaps the Elf was drunken. And if Legolas was drunken, and Aragorn her husband was looking after him in such a state when the unexpected could occur, where were they both?

Nay, they could not have returned to the fire-room of the Fellowship house – they would most likely have taken the shortest path there, and therefore would have walked past me on the way. They would not be outside in the cold night; and so whither would they go?

A thought then occurred to Arwen, a thought which she did not expect.

_The bedchamber._

'The bedchamber?' Arwen said out loud to herself in the darkness, raising an eyebrow. 'Why on Middle-Earth would they go to—'

_He drank some wine, I must say; a lot of wine._

'Ah, yes,' the Elf-Queen muttered under her breath. 'Of course. If Legolas was unwell, he would have been taken to bed; then that is where they must have gone. No need to worry – I should not have fussed over so simple a matter.'

And so she left the hall, climbed a flight of stairs and skimmed over herself in the now bright candle-lit passage. Her hair was fragrant, and her skin was of a pale perfection; her gown shimmered in the flickering light as she moved, radiating a brilliance of many glistening hues. Knowing this, the beautiful Elf grinned; she was definitely fit for the King. And once this King is found (and Legolas is put to slumber), perhaps he, Elessar Telcontar, would be overtaken by enough desire to spend their first night together as husband and wife…

SPECTACULARLY.

Arwen smiled even more brightly as she walked nearer to the bedchamber. Her choice had been made, and the Doom taken; she had fallen for a mortal, and following in the steps of Lúthien Tinúviel, she had chosen to remain in Middle-Earth with her lover. Her lover who loved her in return, who kissed her so tenderly that it truly felt that forever in his arms was where she belonged, her lover whom she grew more and more eager to have softly with each passing moment—

—All of a sudden, a faint noise interrupted her train of thought.

The Elf narrowed her eyes. The noise was coming from her bedchamber, Estel's bedchamber, the Royal bedchamber which none can enter save for the King and Queen themselves. At once, the thought came to her that there was a thief; but she was currently alone, unarmed, and without guard. Just as she was once again filled with panic and her hand clutched tightly at a hard steel candleholder attached to the wall beside her, the sound once again shattered the silent air.

Upon hearing the sound, Arwen released her grip of the candleholder. It was no thief; the sound was a moan of pleasure from an Elven throat that described exactly what it was like to have the stars burst to life behind your eyes. Some whore was being bedded in her chamber; the thought disgusted Arwen so much that she almost could not bear to open the door. But it was her chamber and whoever was trespassing was to be punished; thus slowly, so slowly, and quietly, she clasped her hand around the handle and opened the door just a fraction so that the light within shone only as a thin line on the stone wall without.

And the sight that met her was a sight that could have blinded her for eternity.

It was indulgence in its most lecherous form; pleading, yearning, crying, almost panting in concentrated desire; hunger, fondness, need, the death in the real world and the life in the dream. It was a tangle of bodies, together, skin to skin, flesh upon flesh… Legolas cried with desire – yes, Legolas cried his name… softly, loudly, slowly; every hint of apology in the eyes of the one above him had been replaced with hard fervor, captured together in mercilessly pleasurable torment—

Passion, adoration, longing; a ravelment of sweaty limbs and exhausted kisses.

They were both lost amongst themselves, so lost that it did not even come into their notice that the door had been opened slightly and that eyes were watching them in horror. It was intimacy to such a point that to each involved everything in the world disappeared from the face of Middle-Earth except for the other with whom they were entwined in beautiful lovemaking, which was yet a sinful, guilt-ridden, hushed expression of enamored stirrings that no one else must ever know…

'I love you, Aragorn,' the Elf breathed, caught in the passion of their SPECTACULAR encounter; the race Aragorn was running in his state of drunkenness was still quite fierce. The Human laughed, planting a line of sensual kisses up the tenderly pointed ear.

'And I need you, son of Thranduil.'

Arwen's eyes, by this stage, were thoroughly opened. What she was seeing was failure to retain composure and suppress stimulation; it was a strength in wanting, and a weakness in needing. In the pure, white sheets, Arwen's husband lay in the arms of another, his skin glistening with sweat; their bodies fit as one – yes, the bodies of the King of Gondor and the Prince of Mirkwood – perfectly: and rather than promising his chastity to her… Aragorn had lost all inner purity to LEGOLAS!

For long the Evenstar had dreamed she was where Legolas lay now, pleading for Estel to raise his passion in speed – and strength – and depth… allowing one needful cry after another to escape him as his hands touched Arwen's husband where only Arwen herself had had such right. But now, not perceiving that Legolas was not drunk and that Aragorn was, a sudden pain shot through her heart. The Elf-Queen bent over suddenly, her hand clutching at her chest; fighting for breath, she knew exactly what she was experiencing – the first stage of the deadly broken heart of which grieved Elves were in grave peril of dying.

This is the only Man she has loved in all of her life – and even though he had already promised himself to her long ago upon Cerin Amroth, here he was before her very eyes, dallying not only with another – but another who was male. But that was of little matter to Arwen, for she knew her grief would have been no less if the slender figure that lay in his arms was female. Most positively, the Queen knew as she wept behind the heavy door, that of all treachery her husband could have initiated – none could be more painful than this, the fact that he adoringly touched another on his the night of his wedding to Undómiel…

_(Flashback)_

In the feast hall, Aragorn broke the gentle kiss. Slowly, with the beautiful Elf still in his arms, he nuzzled the tender nape; the Prince seemed to lean into the touch, torn between his morals and his desire. He still did not perceive that he was not in a dream – and that what he had dreamed of through all the days since the Nine Walkers were decided was now real. Legolas released his arms, hardly believing that this was not an illusion.

The King then moved his lips up to the pointed ear, and whispered, 'Wasn't that pleasing, my delicate Prince of Mirkwood.'

'Amin mela lle, Estel…' Legolas whispered. 'I have always loved you.'

'Really?' the Man smirked interestedly. He laughed as he backed away from Legolas, took another long swig (this time straight from the flask), and wiped his mouth in a very clumsy manner; he then pulled on the Elf's hand, and said, 'Will you show me the truth of your words in my bed?'

Legolas was surprised. 'You cannot seriously be planning to seduce me,' he said, horrified. 'This is your wedding night, Aragorn. The night of your wedding with the love of your life…'

'The love of my life!' Aragorn laughed rather harshly, which made Legolas feel very discomforted, like hundreds of needles piercing into his heart at once. 'Like such a pansy you make me sound! Nay, my good Legolas; I told you already that such a thing is not to be thought of now. Did you not enjoy my kiss? Then would you not enjoy what more I have in store for you?'

The King leaned in again, but this time Legolas backed away. 'Mayhap I shall, Estel. But what of your Evenstar? She surrendered immortality and the Undying Lands for you. She would gladly risk a deadly grief and a short life with your people. You wedded her this day, and to betray her now… oh, it is treachery that could not be compensated even in a thousand years.'

Aragorn, for a moment, was silenced.

'I do love you, Aragorn; I would be accursed if I denied it. But it is too late to do anything about it now. Arwen had won you before I had a chance – ah, but I do not even know why I am telling you this. You are intoxicated. You do not even know what you are doing.'

This stirred sudden sorrow in the Man's heart. 'So you do not want me.'

'I want you. I have always longed for you. But I cannot have you.'

'I would give myself to whom I desire; and therefore I can give myself to you. I do not understand why you cannot "have" me – you are not, after all, bound to another.'

'But you are!'

At this, Aragorn sighed in annoyance; he was almost wholly convinced that Legolas would not give in. And what of Arwen anyway? She was just some lass he did not even remember marrying, yet the golden-haired Elf right in front of him kept trying to tell him that such a wedding did occur on this day. Nay: in his mind, he was free. He did not have a lover to be unfaithful to…

'Legolas.'

The Elf glumly raised his eyes. 'What now, Estel?'

'Let me try something.'

'No,' said Legolas firmly, shaking his head.

'Let me try,' answered Aragorn, softly but stubbornly. 'If you are moved, then I promise you I would do what it takes to make this night the most SPECTACULAR night you will have experienced in your endless years. And if you are not, then I shall never again touch you in such a way by sunlight or moonlight.'

And before Legolas could disagree, Aragorn had held up a finger as an indication of silence. Smiling, he slowly leaned in and sweetly kissed the Elf… Aragorn kissed him in a way that was so much more tender than the first time, in a way that was so gentle and wonderful, in a way that made heart ache with such longing and sorrow, that Legolas was moved beyond words. Aragorn gathered him into his arms and held him tightly. The security he felt was unbelievable; the Man's warmth and closeness was so loving and welcoming, and the Elf could not turn him away…

'…And from the looks of it, you do seem to enjoy this.'

'You win, Aragorn,' Legolas whispered, his heart breaking even as he heard his own words. 'I will go with you, wherever you will lead me.'

The Man looked gently upon the Elf cuddled against him, and laughed in hilarity, smooching the delicate cheek with fondness.

'Nay, Legolas,' he stuck out his tongue playfully. 'This time, we both win.'

And, glancing at each other once, suddenly they both burst into laughter and promptly dashed out of the hall, racing each other towards the Royal bedchamber upstairs.

_(End Flashback)_

After a while, Aragorn seemed to have finished; he rolled over and lay beside the golden-haired Elf, breathing quite hard. He smiled wearily and, wrapping an arm around the equally spent Prince next to him, drew the lithe figure closer. For a moment, their gazes met… to Arwen, who was watching in utter grief outside, the fullness of their satisfaction and devotion was unleashed in their eyes. Softly, so delicately, Legolas drew again closer to Aragorn and shared with him several warm kisses.

'Have I told you yet how much I treasure you, Aragorn?' Legolas whispered, his voice muffled, for he was hardly breaking away. Aragorn grinned and moved his kisses to the Elf's shoulder.

'Whether aye or nay, I know now,' the Man replied, then wriggled over and lay back on the bed once more. 'Come, let us sleep. I am wholly exhausted.'

Arwen covered her mouth to stifle a strangled sob as the Prince shared another single, heartbreaking smile with Estel, and lay himself back in the warmth of her husband's arms. And so quickly did they fall to slumber, as the Queen could tell by the deep, calm breathing that sounded from them both. But while they slept in blissful peace, the Evenstar could do nothing but weep outside their door, remaining there for most of the night… that was, until she could no longer find strength to endure the pain and ran away from the scene, her heart crumbling apart as the deadly grief continued to devour her.

(To be continued)


	5. Vows Shattered

**TORMENTED FOOL 4: VOWS SHATTERED**

At last, thoroughly spent, the golden-haired Elf could no longer stand much more and threw her arms up with an enraged growl, storming away to the nearest tree. It had been almost three weeks now since she first began her journey, and she was not accustomed to such hard toil and effort; the dark-haired Elf beside her was equally exhausted, for their supplies were quickly depleting – yet in a desert land such as the one in which they were currently battling for their lives, there was almost no way the provisions could be restored. Therefore now the fair-haired and hot-tempered Lady was slowly beginning to starve and thirst; but worst of all, especially for her companion, her murderous disposition was quickly worsening with every moment that passed.

'I can withstand this no more!' she cried, throwing her back onto the tree. 'My only desire is to return to my own kingdom – but I cannot; we have journeyed this far already and cannot go back anyway, because of those good-for-nothing traitors that stole the land from us! I may be the Lady of the Sands, but even I need refreshment. Please, Faunel, please, take me to a city—'

'We will find one, my Lady. I pray you, do not despair,' the male Elf replied quickly, coming to her once more. 'I am not entirely sure – but if I am not mistaken, Gondor is only a few more leagues north. If you are weary, sweet one, then rest against this tree while you may; but remember that we cannot linger, lest we wish to end up starved…'

The female Elf looked into the eyes of her companion, sighed, and lowered her head.

'How much will you give me?'

'One week,' he firmly answered. 'I will take you to Gondor in that time – or you will have the right to punish me for breaking that word.'

The golden-haired Lady laughed, and tenderly wrapped her arms around her companion who returned the gesture swiftly. 'I will not punish you, Faunel. You have never broken your word to me, and therefore you will not break your word this time – giving me no need to lay penalty on you. You are right! Ai! We crossed the river yesterday, did we not? That means the desert is soon ending, and Minas Tirith is near.'

'…And Minas Tirith is such a large city. We will go there, and do whatever we need to do,' Faunel laughed with restored hope as he kissed the flaxen-haired beauty in his arms.

...

Legolas awoke to harsh sunlight in his eyes. A strange, sweet flavor was in his mouth, like the taste of a potent honey-wine; aside from that, his throat and his heart felt moderately hot. And when the milky hue in his eyes cleared to the ever-brilliant blue, the first thing that came to his sight was the wideness of the grey stone walls, with the open window releasing the caresses of the sun upon the bed in which he lay.

After that, he turned his head to see Aragorn beautifully sleeping beside him; Legolas smiled, and leaning over he tenderly kissed the Man on the mouth just mildly enough to prevent him from waking. It seemed ironic that he felt he had woken up in a dream, for at that moment his heart was so filled with love; Aragorn stirred a little at the contact of the kiss, and formed upon his face what seemed to be the small hint of a smile. Grinning, the Elf carefully climbed out of the bed and slid on his breeches and his soft shirt; and just as he did his eyes came to the large heavy door, slightly open…

_A Elbereth!_

'Aragorn! Wake! Wake!' Legolas suddenly cried with a panic, frantically running over and shaking the shoulders of the King. 'Did we not close the door? Come on, Estel, speak to me! Did we not lock the door, Estel?'

'…What?' Aragorn yawned, rubbing his eyes. 'O, this spinning in my head—'

'Did you close the door last night – no; did you lock the door?' the Prince repeated quickly.

'I cannot understand what you are speaking of, Legolas; I do not really think I am in the shape to understand, either,' the Man slurred, and turned his body away wearily. 'Will you not let me sleep a little while longer? After that, I will answer whatever you wish to know…'

And suddenly, as Aragorn resumed his deep breath and calm stillness, it hit Legolas. Estel did not remember! He did not understand because he was drunken the night before! Legolas was so sure the door had been closed last night; and if the servants of Minas Tirith were loyal and respectful to the King and Queen, the only person who could have opened the door to the Royal Bedchamber – other than Aragorn who was already in the room—

…Was Undómiel.

_Valar! I could sink no lower! Eru Ilúvatar…_

At this thought, the fullness of how much panic could hit Legolas suddenly filled his heart. Pressing his hands to his cheeks in alarm, he suddenly prayed to Ilúvatar that Arwen had not caught them, that the night they had spent together would be destroyed permanently only in the memory of Legolas and in the body of Aragorn, who did not even seem to remember. It was something that only the King of Gondor and the Prince of Mirkwood had shared, and the Elf hoped beyond hope that such a private encounter had not been stolen by the eyes of another, especially not the Evenstar; for if so, he would be called a whore and beheaded or, worse, banished, so he would never—

'No!'

Legolas bolted out of the room, his heart stinging in his chest. Overtaken by grief, he realized that unless Aragorn released him from his sudden position as Chief Advisor, he could not flee from Gondor; not yet. It would be a dangerous attempt, for there was no way of knowing yet whether the declaration was remembered by the King even through his drunkenness. And in that moment Legolas wished Aragorn and Arwen had never been wedded; he wished he had never come to Gondor; he wished he had been strong enough not to surrender to his desire so that the previous evening would never have occurred…

_I wish I had never fallen in love with you._

_...  
_

Lady Galadriel sighed as she touched the dark hair of her granddaughter, who was propped up on a chair with her hand on her heart. It seemed so melodramatic, Arwen's sudden condition, that to some it actually seemed slightly hilarious; clutching at her chest, the Elf looked quite theatrical in her mixed emotions. However, all knew that an unfaithful King was not something even close to hilarious, let alone the fact that the secret strumpet he had taken to bed was his best friend – who was not even female.

'I never thought I would understand what torment is like… and yet now I do,' Arwen suddenly whispered, her voice caught with grief. Galadriel stroked her hair sorrowfully.

'It is not your fault, Arwen.'

'—I am but a grievous fool… and now not even my lover would be able to deny it. Has the love withered from our bond? Is this why he could have done such a thing?'

Gandalf sighed. 'No, Arwen. Listen to me—'

'AND WITH LEGOLAS!' she yelled at last, snapping forward suddenly in her seat as her face twisted into an expression of hideousness and disgust. 'O, Grandmother, my heart is failing. The very thought of it sends my mind into an uproar. When we wedded, Grandmother – when my lover and I wedded he pledged to me his everlasting love and faithfulness. This is only the morning after our wedding – and already he has bedded another! But you know, perhaps this is not Estel's work. Legolas was drunk; I saw the wine and the chalice on the feast table yesternight. He forced Estel, Mithrandir; he seduced my beloved and lured him into bed, Grandmother, and I am so sure of it. How dare he! That whore! To think that he used to be a friend of Aragorn and I; now I believe I will never see him the same way again.'

'And what of Aragorn, child?' Galadriel answered pointedly. 'He did have an equal part in this. My heart tells me that it is not entirely his fault, but if Legolas and Aragorn had chosen this, then I do not doubt that they both desired it. Do not blame one or the other, Undómiel; you have no idea of what you speak.'

And at that firm remark, the Queen of Gondor bowed her head. She clutched the arm of the chair in which she was sitting, cursing the world and everything in it for all the bad luck that she had thus far been forced to endure. Dark locks fell over her face, and cast a shadow over the pain that was openly unleashed in her eyes… and little did she know, that at the moment her head was lowered, her husband far away began to wake…

...

Legolas slammed the doors open, startling the young Prince who was already standing in front of them with his eyes gazing upon the serene land. But even though the sun shone and the flowers of the White Tree bloomed with a soft fragrance pleasing to those who sensed it, the golden-haired Elf could find no solace in the comfort that it gave. Finally, unable to retain any shred of composure that was left in him, he fell upon his knees and wept for all the misery that he himself had caused, his head buried in the cold and trembling impurity of his hands… tainted hands that had touched another's husband, unclean hands that gave in easily to lechery and temptation and that could never again be washed untarnished. The Human Prince who stood there was moved by the genuine sadness of the Elf and, bending down, lightly touched the lean shoulder with care.

'What is the matter, son of Thranduil? Never have I seen you in such a state,' he said. 'Come, I was hoping for someone to speak to anyway, and I am more than willing to give you comfort. Pray tell, what ails you?'

'I do not wish to speak of this, Lord Faramir,' the Elf-Prince replied, barely looking up at the Human.

'Come now, Prince Legolas. I shall not be staying here for long; for I am now wedded to the fair Lady Éowyn – and she wishes to settle. You know quite well that I am very willing to stay beside you in your troubled times, especially whilst I am still here, and have not yet moved out into Ithilien. Why would you not use the chance whilst it is present?'

Legolas sighed, stood and leaned his back against a nearby column, which was tall and white in the bright sun. Faramir felt a touch of sympathy stream through his heart and, coming to the Mirkwood Prince, embraced him and whispered words of comfort; for although the sky was blue and all trace of milky fog was gone with the dawn, a fog indeed seemed to cloud the mind and soul of the golden-haired Elf. Stroking the soft head, the Human Prince looked out into the wide realms beyond the city and seemed to spy a dark speckle beneath the trees, like a lone figure far away heading for the White Tower outside of which he now stood.

...

In sleep, one always experiences beautiful dreams or horrifying nightmares. But as Aragorn stirred in the disordered bedsheets, he came to wake with the stirring in his heart and a fear in his soul to know that he had experienced both.

At first, when he opened his eyes and saw the icy pale roof above his head, he felt very ill and could remember nothing. Staggering out of bed, he clumsily stumbled to the floor, reaching for his bedside for support. There were circles spinning in his head and cobwebs floating in his eyes. Strongest of all was the taste of honey-wine bittersweet in his mouth and hot in his throat; the haunting liquor that he had wanted to drink and yet should have not, the lingering flavor which gave him these dreams of pleasure and these nightmares of terror.

Feeling as though he was going to be violently ill, he laid his head against the softness of his bed and swallowed hard. Something was pulling at him, something that he did not understand. He did not truly know for sure, but at the same time, he knew.

Something had happened that night.

But whatever it was, he could not quite pluck it out of his mind, which was too busy trying to prevent him from being unwell in his own chambers. All he could think of was a bleary face, a cloudy occurrence, and disgorging. Placing a hand on his heart, he swallowed hard again, trying to sweep the nausea out of mind. And it was then that he felt a mark in his chest, a circular imprint that was uncomfortable to touch; looking down, he saw for himself that there was indeed a circle engraved on his chest – like a mark of possession that had been inscribed, in a time blurred with creamy mist…

_May I take off the ring? It presses against me._

_Nay, I cannot be parted from it; not now… not yet._

Suddenly, Aragorn lifted his head. Thoroughly forgetting about the unpleasant queasiness which warred in his stomach and in his heart, he quickly slid on his breeches and his wrinkled shirt, then bolted with all speed downstairs with the likeness of prey being chased, knowing that doom is coming.

_(Flashback)  
_

Smiling, Legolas wrapped his arms around the Man who clearly did not have to be told of what he wanted: the Elf felt everything now that he could have ever dreamed of, and Aragorn was fulfilling it willingly… the Elf still felt bad that his dearest friend was drunk and not himself, but his mind was still distracted by Aragorn's willingness, or perhaps even his desire to do this.

Aragorn held him close, held the lithe Elven body to him. Legolas was happy, for he felt that the Man also felt as much pleasure coming from this as he did. Responding to the tender kisses, he felt his soft shirt being slid utterly from his shoulders; his heart was beating quickly, but at the same time, the minutes seemed to slow down. Aragorn touched him so gently, but so closely, as though he were something to be treasured… the sadness and warmth warring in Legolas' heart was indescribable. Aragorn probably had no idea how much the Elf had wanted this. He had wanted this so much.

…And Estel was giving it to him.

Aragorn had also quickly removed the Elf-Prince's breeches, and Legolas hoped for everything now, for happiness and longing, for pleasure and fulfillment. But before the Man did anything else, he stared into the eyes of his fortune, a harmless expression upon his face.

'May I take off the ring?' he asked, pointing at the Mithril treasure that hung from a chain around the Elf's slender throat. 'It presses against me. It is uncomfortable.'

Legolas stopped.

'Nay, I cannot be parted from it,' Legolas whispered. 'Not now… not yet.'

'But will it not leave a mark? I can sense that it is no ordinary ring.'

The Elf-Prince, touched, looked back into the bright brown eyes. They were filled with innocence, with a naïvety of one who did not truly know what he was doing. They spun, too, and could not for more than an inch of time concentrate upon the brilliant blue, and upon the fair face and the golden hair that cascaded like a river of honey upon the feather pillow. Filled with sympathy, the Prince embraced him, kissing his rough cheek tenderly, and urged him to continue.

'Then it will leave a mark,' Legolas whispered. 'For a time, you will bear my mark.'

_(End Flashback)  
_

Aragorn ran down the many flights of stairs, the memories flooding back to him. He did not know what to make of the stirring in his soul; to imagine the voice and the face of Legolas now made the blood burn back to his heart. He was confused, and he did not understand at the same time that he understood; this one night with the Mirkwood Prince had brought him more pleasure than an age with his dark-haired lover.

What have I done! He cursed himself, remembering suddenly that he had denied answer to Legolas' question concerning the closing of the door. Everything was beginning to make sense now; fortunately for the King, he was quite accustomed to a lot of drinking, so the potent honey-wine was enough to cloud his memories… but not diminish it.

_Valar. What on Middle-Earth will he think of me? I have ruined this friendship!_

And with this sudden thought, Aragorn ran faster. He had to speak to the Elf of all this madness. He had betrayed his wife, but he knew that a desperate race was now being run; he was shocked at himself upon realizing that he could not bear to lose Legolas, but hardly cared that he had just committed adultery against the lover who had been by his side for as long as he could remember. Even though he felt horrible to have performed such treachery, he knew that if he was not fast to find the golden-haired Prince, he would dearly regret it; with the rushed beating of his heart, the circular imprint on his chest seemed to flare with heat and pain, as though it had been burned there.

But something stopped him halfway down the stairs, a heart-numbing sight which he had dreaded seeing even from his innocent youth.

Arwen stood less than fifteen steps below, her arms crossed and her eyes dark with rage. Her slender fist was clenched tight, so tight that her nails dug into the softness of her skin, and her lower lip quivered as though chanting a dark Elvish spell of anger. Her skin had turned pale, paler than what could be considered beautiful, and her long dark hair fell before her eyes, hanging limply in front of her shoulders, overshadowing what was the exquisiteness of her face. Lifting an arm to reach out to him, Aragorn noticed that she had turned somewhat thin, her fingers trembling, long nails and white knuckles protruding.

'Come hither, Aragorn,' she stated darkly. 'I wish to speak with you.'

But he was frightened by this sudden change in his lover, and did not move save for another slow step forward. When it seemed clear to the Elf-Queen that he was not willing to draw any closer, she cried, 'COME!'

'I am searching for Legolas,' he said hesitantly, ignoring her plea. 'It is very urgent, so I cannot speak now. Have you seen him?'

'I would certainly hope not!' she yelled, and her voice shuddered with wrath. 'How dare he cleave to my husband, that fool? He will pay dearly; the fury of Arwen Undómiel is terrible and great. He will be tormented, if he chooses to touch you again! And how could you consent to his advances, Estel? Now it is not only Legolas who has betrayed me as a friend; but you have betrayed me as my lover!'

Aragorn bowed his head, for he knew and did not have to be told of this. Suddenly he understood why Legolas had been so anxious about the open door in the morning, and was sorry he had been too ill at that time to understand what the Elf was trying to say. Guilt suddenly filled the Man.

'I was drunken, Undómiel. I am sorry. I could not have helped what I was doing – I did not understand at the time. It was not his error.'

'So YOU were drunken!' she bellowed, abandoning all her dignity and grace. 'And that is supposed to mean something more to me? I thought that he was intoxicated, but your claim does nothing to comfort me. It only tells me that you were senseless enough to take powerful drink that had the potency to knock out a horse, and turn a dignified man into a lust-driven fool!'

The King sighed. 'Arwen… I—'

'What has he done to you?' she demanded, her voice deepening with darkness. 'Did he influence you to drink the honey-wine? He seduced you, the whore, the night that you and I were wedded! He had crossed against me and come between us on the night that we had become husband and wife! How could he even consider taking you from me? He will mean nothing more to me, the treacherous one, he is no longer a friend to me – as he does not even care enough to act as one. And as for you – how could I ever love you again? Tell me how, Estel!'

Aragorn suddenly felt as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

'What?' he choked out, almost spluttering. 'But I love you!'

'Obviously not enough!' Arwen cried angrily. Her voice broke and her eyes unleashed the grief within her; it was so raw, so real, that it hurt the King immensely just to see it. She trembled, and he wanted to hold her, take care of her, and make everything as it once was… but he had a sudden feeling that the right to touch her in such a way was no longer his. It made him feel cold and awful.

'Arwen—'

'What happened to us, Estel?' she whispered, her voice hoarse. 'Does he interest you more than me? I thought I was everything to you.'

'But you were,' answered Aragorn automatically; but seeing the expression that crossed her face as he said this, he realized his error.

The Queen's eyes flared.

'Though not anymore, I am guessing,' she uttered, and before Aragorn could say anything, her wrath exploded. 'You are unbelievable, Aragorn. You are not sorry at all! You and that accursed Elf really do deserve each other – treacherous, uncaring, hateful beings. I have had enough. You understand now, Estel, that I could never again love you the same way!'

The Man was almost ready to cower. He had never, in the most terrible of nightmares, thought that he and Arwen would come to such a plight. His heart ached because of it. But Legolas had now run off somewhere, and a bond of friendship was at stake; although it hurt him utterly, he knew what he had to say to the Evenstar. He sighed.

'I am sorry if you do not love me anymore, Arwen. But if I still have a chance to regain the friendship of he who had been so dear to me all my life, then I will not hesitate to grasp it,' Aragorn said hurriedly, finally finding the courage to move once more and push past her. 'I must find Legolas at once.'

And with those words he was gone like smoke.

Arwen looked at him in bewilderment, raced a few steps down to chase after him, then realized it was futile. Consumed by grief, she sat upon the stair and wept, her face buried in her hands, long dark hair strewn over steps like a stream of black. She had expected him to condemn Legolas to exile, apologize, and once more return to her side as her faithful lover and forget all that had occurred on the wedding night. But when Aragorn had said that he understood if she could not love him in the same way anymore, she knew from the confusion in his voice that he felt exactly the same way.

Legolas had found his heart at last.

(To be continued)


	6. The First Storm

**TORMENTED FOOL 5: THE FIRST STORM**

Already many moons had risen and fallen, and it began to worry others that the lovers Aragorn and Arwen had not spoken to each other. If in need, they would ask others for aid; when one began conversation, the other would not involve themselves… and because of this, the tantalizing taste of shared scandal was no longer relished. And since the night of the wedding, no one had seen Legolas; that is, except for Faramir, who had secretly been protecting the Mirkwood Elf under his wing. But none had seen the two Princes standing oft in front of the gates of the White Tower, or sitting at a window with the fair Lady Éowyn, watching a peculiar small dot against grey stone inching ever closer to Minas Tirith.

Even though the Elf-Prince was grieved, and frightened of the thought of Undómiel's vengeance, he still missed Aragorn terribly. Desperately, he wanted to see the King and speak about what had occurred, perhaps even come to an understanding about it… for he knew that they had been so close a pair of friends that if Aragorn could not embrace what had happened, they still must not be sundered because of it. But above all things, he also missed the Man's comfort… the warm arms, the soft, reassuring voice, and the intimate scent in his coarse skin that he could never forget; all swirling in his mind like wisps of curling mist that could not be blown away by even the harshest winds, lingering to cruelly torment him. Faramir kept a vigil over Legolas without understanding the cause of his sorrow, but mourned to see the Elf's anguish, which flared painfully enough to let the Human Prince know that it was real.

At last, Legolas could stand the suspense no more. Informing Faramir that he was returning to the Fellowship house, he left the room that he had shared with the Man and his golden-haired wife for several days, where he had remained hidden from the rest of his companions while they waited fretfully for his return. As he walked slowly along the wide halls, it did not escape his mind to expect no less than the worst; he planned speeches and promises in his mind, lest Estel were to tell him that the liaison could not continue… or, dreaded more yet, if the Evenstar were to unleash her fury upon him any time in the bleary future.

He walked slowly, his mind haunted by guilt and longing and hope, and stopped unexpectedly in front of the fire-room in which the Fellowship had spent their night on the day that the King and his enchanting lover were wedded. A gentle hand slowly drew upward and passed his burning heart, riddled with woe. Silk fingertips brushed against cold mithril, and the icy gem that was inlaid in the mighty bosom of the unknown creature seemed to frost against the fair skin; the golden hair, which that fateful night had many times been graced with impassioned kisses from the drunken King, streamed like a sheet of liquid glass over the soft hand, trembling in reminiscence.

That mithril ring, so cold, so beautiful… shimmering pale within the streamlets of sunrays, glistening ever more illustriously against the white mantle that the young Prince donned upon tender shoulders. His flawless face turned to the ashen roof in the warmest memory. Soft voices hummed on the other side of the door, but there was no laughter; the lilting whisper of the Elves, the boisterous utterances of a certain Wizard and Dwarf, and the usually excited and fervent murmurs of the Hobbits all calmed into tranquil conversation that did not exceed more than one individual speaking at one time. Whether or not the voices of Men were muted within that room at that moment, especially the Man who had been accidentally branded as though with a love-bite by the Elf-Prince's ring, he knew somehow that the one he searched for was inside.

Nay, I cannot be parted from it; not now… not yet. Legolas clearly remembered saying those words that night, after seeing the King, dearest Estel, with a circular mark burned into the firm chest. Poor Aragorn, he would not have understood. But he must surely be sober now; it would perhaps be easier to explain what had occurred, to confess what he felt, and to understand what the Man himself felt.

_I will try to make him understand._

'I do not understand,' Aragorn's mutter was finally heard from inside the room, which startled the Elf. 'I had searched almost the entire tower for him. I am sorry, Gandalf, I cannot do any more. He may have fled… he did say to me once that this place was like Hell of Morgoth to him.'

Legolas remembered that.

'When was that?' the Wizard's voice was heard.

'After I declared him Chief Advisor to me, after I was plagued with drunkenness. My memory of that night is cloudy, but I remember his cry that the intensity of Minas Tirith was little different to him than that of Udûn. Ah, I do not know. I have not yet asked Faramir if he knows of Legolas' whereabouts… but I did not wish to disturb him – after all, he is settling with his new wife, and I would not like to worry him with our troubles whilst he is in need of privacy with his lover.'

'He and Éowyn will be moving away to Ithilien soon,' Arwen's blank whisper sounded unexpectedly from inside.

Legolas cringed at that moment as he fully realized Aragorn's words, almost keeled over in harsh anxiety which had struck his spine like a stone brick crashing down. Aragorn remembered. He had remembered, even though no one had told him, that he had been drunken that night; and most important of all, he had remembered an insult towards his kingdom that had only been uttered once, even though he had already been hit hard with intoxication. Sudden queasiness swept over the Elf; if the Man was able to remember one phrase that had lasted little more than a few seconds to cry out, then it was highly unlikely that he would have forgotten what seemed like immeasurable hours of indulgent pleasure in the night.

But in one quick, decisive movement, Legolas impetuously swung the small door open. 'I was with them,' he laughed insincerely, unsuccessfully trying to present an earnest grin. 'No need to worry, my friends. I was not feeling well, and Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn had cared for me for the past few days.'

'Legolas!' Frodo and Gimli sprang up from their seated position on the ground, stampeding towards the Prince in wild relief. The Elf laughed again as he bent down to hold them both, pressing his smooth cheek against the untamed hair of each. He held them tight; he could hardly let them go. Such caring friends. Almost like devoted brothers…

'You could have told us,' Gimli playfully punched Legolas' arm. 'We were worried sick. Never leave us that concerned again, lest you wish for me to hit you seriously.'

Galadriel sighed, warm hues of life returning to her pale face, and leaned back wearily in her seat. 'Well, at least you have returned now, and we know you are safe.'

'I am sorry,' the Elf-Prince uttered, almost inaudibly. And as he turned his head and looked, it seemed to him that a smile was forming on everyone's bright faces, all so calm and caring; in the far corner, Aragorn sat upon a grey chair, staring intently into his eyes… it was as though a great contentment and ease had flooded into the Human at his return. The handsome King grinned.

'I am glad we have not lost you,' he sighed. 'I thought that you fled, that you left us.'

Legolas felt something warm flow into him at the words, a soft tranquility he had remembered feeling when he lay in Aragorn's arms, weary and falling asleep after a night of bliss and fulfillment, a night of joined heartbeats. He could not physically feel that heartbeat now; but he thought he sensed some sort of flutter emanating from the Man's body, as honey-wine, when taken in small draughts, issues fervid heat throughout cold flesh. Perhaps it was indeed Aragorn's heartbeat, he did not know; but the King was seated almost at the other side of the room, and the Elf thought the concept of sensing such a faraway heartbeat ridiculous. He pushed the thought aside and softly smiled.

'Why? I would not have. Do you doubt your Chief Advisor's loyalty to you?'

Arwen ultimately stiffened, at the same time that her husband beamed in relief.

'You are staying. You remembered.'

_Undómiel_, the King thought guiltily; but he knew he could do nothing about it.

'Of course I remember,' Legolas replied pointedly, trying to show contentment, but unable to do so. 'It was you who was drunken, Estel, not I. And you declared my service to you, to work by your side in Minas Tirith. Why would I have any intention of… of leaving you?'

'He has worried himself to the point that he turned almost feeble, mellon nîn,' Elrohir grinned, interrupting all threads of thought. 'These past few days, all he could say was: where is Legolas? I must see him, where can I find him? Dearest Estel, the brother of my heart, has been unwell with anxiety just to be parted from you. You can understand our ease just to see him smile, and to see you safe; never asunder must anyone be from a close friend.'

Close friend. The wise and beautiful son of Elrond had said it with much care, knowing that everyone in the room – even Aragorn – perceived the emphasis that was placed upon these words. Arwen shuddered, and Galadriel and Gandalf flinched. Aragorn raised his head slightly, as though with pride; Legolas bowed his head and angled it aslant, his face overshadowed with cautiousness and uncertainty.

'Aye… I know.'

The Elf-Queen of Gondor skimmed her soft hand slowly across the long arm of her brother who sat beside her, and unexpectedly fluttered her nails across his slender limb in gentle and yet distinct warning. Elrohir winced at the abrupt gesture, but did not say anything, afraid that it would provoke chaos.

'Come, then,' said Aragorn as he stood, making a gesture of offering for the Elf to take the seat that he had been sitting on. 'Tell us what has happened with you, dearest friend, and how you came to stay with Faramir. For being away from you has made us more eager for conversation, and even in the space of a few days we have worried about you; we have missed you greatly. We need you, son of Thranduil.'

Her lover did not say it, but Arwen heard it ringing like the dark bells of a funerary procession in her mind: _I need you._

Whether it was romantic, or whether it was simply friendly, the very thought of it revolted the Queen to no end. She stood calmly, which surprised those who sat in the room. Four young Hobbits tensed at once, as did everyone else around them, who expected the dark-haired Elf to scream and lay curses upon her husband and his secret harlot; fingers inched forward and faces lunged forth, ready to restrain the Queen in case she were to act rashly. But she only bit her lip and walked past Aragorn, past Legolas, muttering underneath her breath in a low, muffled voice.

'As you desire.'

With that she vanished from the room, all troubled gazes upon the door in embarrassment and distress. Aragorn's eyebrows slanted in sorrow as he breathed, and Legolas turned his head away in humiliation, thrusting his stare out the nearby arched window; but did not know that at that very moment, Faramir looked upon the same heel of rock in bewilderment, watching as the blurred dark speckle he had seen for several days separated into two.

...

In the darkness of Legolas' bedchamber the candlelight from a single flame danced across the slender Elf-body, who sat at the edge of the bed humbly with his hands crossed upon his lap. His head was bowed slightly in respect and modesty, for before him in a great chair sat the son of Arathorn, leaning back casually as though he were exhausted; but the King was in fact deep in thought, knowing that the matter of the wedding night must be discussed – though neither Legolas nor Aragorn would begin speaking. Thus, almost half an hour already had been wasted in nervous silence or stuttered speech.

But after an hour of wordlessness had passed, Aragorn began to grow impatient with himself. He had argued against his wife on the white stair, pushed past her to regain the friendship and approval of the Elf who had brought him more pleasure than he could have ever imagined, openly heightened her wrath in full view of the entire Fellowship and their loved ones – only to turn mute, to stammer threads of nonsense. Valar! I no longer wish to be uncomfortable about this incident – so what is keeping me from discussing it with him?

The King sighed.

'You do know that I remember, don't you?'

Legolas raised his head and attempted a smile, but it did not last any longer than fleeting seconds. 'I had already guessed it from your words in the fire-room, Estel.'

'Then how will you respond? What will you—'

'I know you were upset, Aragorn,' the Elf interrupted darkly. 'In the fire-room, when Arwen left… I saw the expression on your face – I know what grief you have suffered to have your marriage shattered in such a way.'

Suddenly, something inside the Man ached.

'…W- what?'

'Whilst I am here, I am only in the way, Estel,' Legolas lowered his voice into a whisper, staring into the bleary and darkened face of the King. 'I am sorry. If you will dismiss me, then do so; it will not grieve me to rid you of such a burden. For I know how much you love your Evenstar.'

Aragorn laughed softly, a laugh that both consoled and intimidated the golden-haired Prince who sat before him, in the same way that rain may nourish and flood the earth. 'In one night, mellon nîn, you have filled me with more bliss and contentment than she has for more than half my years. I was disconcerted because I wanted to see you, not because being with you would destroy my marriage to the Evenstar; I would not dismiss you even if I were to be made King of all Middle-Earth if I did so. I have not yet told you, but she said to me that she would nevermore be able to love me as she once did; were you expecting that? I remembered well what I said to you that night – and what I said to you in the fire-room this afternoon… I need you, Legolas – and I will not risk losing you, not for anything in the wide realms of Arda.'

Slightly tormented, Legolas could not for a few momentary seconds devise anything to state in return. But unexpectedly, the words slipped from the tender mouth: 'Show me.'

At first, the Man was surprised; but then again, the Elf was equally surprised at the bold emergence of the words – for he knew what they meant, and he knew that Aragorn also understood what they were asking him to do. Dreading the thought of the one he loved storming out of the chamber in appalled fury, Legolas froze in his place; now he only waited in tensed concentration for the Dúnadan's temper to boil, for him to run out and return to his Queen in utter resentment.

But Aragorn merely stood from the chair and, with utmost grace and strength, walked forth slowly as a commoner would approach an admired nobleman; soft bare feet crunching against the grey floor, he stood before Legolas as Minas Tirith towers over Gondor, his gaze locked upon the Elf's in weariness and sorrow.

The King took Legolas' hand in his and laced their fingers together.

'Tell me how.'

...

Galadriel looked out the wide window into the night, where many crowns of stars lay glimmering against the dark sky of Ilúvatar. Her glance drifted across the broad plains, but her mind was not quite fixed upon them, as she mused in despair of the haste and folly of young ones; so far, it had not occurred to anyone that she guessed more than they ever would of the star-crossed events that have passed, that were still passing. Lord Celeborn her husband could not understand her; Arwen her granddaughter would not listen to her – and, most grievous of all, neither Aragorn nor Legolas could hear the voice that lay behind her silence.

Gandalf, feeling sorry for the enigmatic Elf-Queen, came beside her at the window and lay a gentle hand upon her shoulder. 'I know what is on your mind, Galadriel; I can see it, burning behind your eyes. But we can do nothing.'

But Galadriel turned her head slowly to face the Wizard, and it pained him to see the sadness that she openly unleashed in her expression; her lips trembled, and the eyes quivered in despair and helplessness, pleading futilely from one who had just claimed that nothing could be done.

'If only we could, Mithrandir.'

The Maia sighed and sorrowfully tightened his grip on the Lórien Elf.

'I know, Lady. Whatever is occurring will change all future decisions made by Legolas, who is growing more unpredictable in the matters of the heart; and, though I desperately hope not, may prove a fatal guilt and anguish for everyone else. Is that not on your mind?'

But Galadriel said nothing in reply, and turned away from Gandalf, watching the sky above Gondor as ever it was flooded with the grey wash of pale moonlight.

...

At that moment, Legolas' many thoughts were muddled together as a tangle of billowing clouds of dark grey in a storm, and he himself did not understand anything – what he desired, or what he was doing – at that point in time. It was as though light and darkness blurred together so he could not perceive which waxed and waned; they had become so alike, despite their unavoidably clear difference.

But something unwanted lingered in his mind nonetheless, something that was holding him back – and it certainly did not escape Aragorn's notice. There was something in Legolas that warred like the seas in a frightful storm, that made him yearn with the desire of one that has never learnt to touch before, and at the same time caused him to retreat with the loath of one who has touched too many times. But when Aragorn asked what was wrong, Legolas would not answer.

After the third time with the same response, however, Aragorn's concern grew. 'What is it that you will not tell me? I am worried about you. I find it difficult to understand you, as you are keeping yourself hidden from me.'

The Elf breathed hard; he had not expected the Man to ask in such a manner. By some instinct, or perhaps as an involuntary movement that he has begun growing accustomed to using when he was intimidated, his hand came up to his throat and clutched at the silver ring.

'I myself do not quite know, Estel,' he said softly. 'I wonder why.'

Without warning, his other hand ran softly across the Man's chest, and unfastened the first two buttons of his shirt; and, because of the unreadable expression in Legolas' eyes, Aragorn was not sure what the Elf was doing – until it became clear all of a sudden that the flittering fingertips halted at the circular mark that had come from that ring. Legolas touched the mark gently, the mark that strangely had not disappeared in several days, and knew that it was no different from branding; if Aragorn were ever to make love to Arwen, that burn would tell her that her husband was already taken, was no longer hers alone.

_Then it will leave a mark… you will bear **my** mark._

The Man smiled and indicated the clenched fist. 'May I see the ring?'

Legolas tensed. 'Perhaps not at this moment—'

'Then shall we go on?' the Human laughed, a friendly laugh that undeniably warmed his heart.

'Aragorn… I do not know—'

Overcome by great sadness and by passion, Aragorn slowly placed one finger on his lips, and once more lowered his head into the feather pillow and kissed the tender nape and pointed ears of the Elf; knowing that he was being touched in all places where his weakness lay, he could do nothing less than respond fervently, with ardor, with remorse. And at once, as he released the Mithril trinket and allowed another needful cry escaped his muffled throat, the thoughts came to his mind again; and he did not know which voices to listen to, for they all stirred together, for the sheer purpose of his torment.

_I cannot believe I am forcing him to do this. This is low._

_But I need him. I need this…_

He stopped suddenly.

'It is alright, Aragorn,' he whispered. 'You need not prove anything to me anymore. I do not wish to force you into this.'

'You do not need to,' answered the Dúnadan, and Legolas could tell from the warmth in his voice that he was thoroughly aroused. That there was no going back.

Legolas closed his eyes. But I just destroyed Estel's bond with the love of his life! What am I doing! He does not love me, he loves the Evenstar; he has only ever said he needed me—

'Aragorn,' he breathed. 'Aragorn…'

_For a time, you will bear my mark…_

_There is no going back._

The Human heard this, an enchanting voice that seemed bubbled from underwater, and slowly calmed; for he thought that it was the Elf's pleasure, not his alarm. But even as he returned to gentleness, to rousing Legolas' longing and responses, he pushed at the Prince's senses with the genuine intention of allowing him to enjoy the night; and furthermore he did not know what stirred behind the pale blue eyes, that seemed filled with doom.

_…But I desire this so badly…_

And in that moment, Legolas wrapped his long arms around Aragorn, and ultimately surrendered.

(To be continued)


	7. Faunel, StarCloud

**TORMENTED FOOL 6: FAUNEL, STAR-CLOUD**

'ARAGORN!'

Legolas snapped upright on the bed, his breath hard, as though strong fingers had just released his throat from a vile and malicious grip. At first, as quivering fingers flew up and clasped the Mithril ring at his neck, he could see nothing around him but darkness and despair; he wanted to weep, but bit his lip hard, forcing himself against it. When the blackness of the wide room finally paled into a dark grey with the acclimatization of his eyes, he could see two others in the bedchamber, sitting erect upon great chairs; it was then that he remembered where he was, and angrily drove the visions out from beneath his eyes.

'Legolas! What is wrong?' Elrohir sprang to his feet, and beside him Elladan followed, coming to the Elf's bedside.

The Prince had been surprised that the two Imladris Elves had come to his chamber in the night to watch over him before he slept, but was even more surprised to find that they had remained where they were even after he had been overtaken by slumber; and even as he thought this, Elrohir stroked the golden head with a gentle and caring hand. Sighing in humiliation, he slid back into the covers and lay down, his utterance as soft as the dark blanket of the night sky.

'Nothing,' the withdrawn Elf whispered. 'Only… a bad dream.'

...

Another week had passed since the second time Aragorn had touched the Crown Prince of Mirkwood, but no one had known of it nor of the third time, which had been so much worse that Legolas himself had preferred to wipe the matter out of mind. But now, at least Faramir knew what was happening; Frodo and Sam had told him the whole story, beginning from the despondency and gloom that had begun after the One Ring was thrown into the fires of Orodruin. Poor Legolas… he mused upon the terrible events, especially the lechery and intoxication of the King, and sighed upon the white stair, leaning back against a column.

But when he turned his face to the sky, to indulge in the cool air that breathed before the tower, he heard a clear voice ringing out: 'Greetings, Man of Minas Tirith! Enjoying the calm air, are we? Well, 'tis a compliment to be said of Gondor – the weather has ever been pleasant, or so I'd heard in the barren place from which I came. Has the King many matters at hand? Or would it be possible for me to speak to him?'

Faramir lowered his head once again, and was astounded to see that the figure standing before him was a desirably beautiful dark-haired Elf; his long hair, shimmering in the sunlight, was not braided as the Human had often seen of other Elves such as Legolas and Elrohir, because of the long and rough journey that was plain the Elf had embarked upon. He smiled at Faramir, a smile that was enchanting in a way that felt strange to him, warm and cool at the one time. The Human Prince narrowed his eyes and ran them along the slender body of the stranger, whom he now recognized.

'I have seen you,' he said suddenly. 'For many days, I have seen you traveling to Gondor from the South, as a black speckle on the grey stones in the distance.'

'Aye, that was me,' the Elf laughed. 'I have journeyed far from the South, and would very much like to stay in Minas Tirith for a while, to rest from my long expedition; my provisions are depleted, and I do not think I will be able to stir my weary feet any longer. Will you not let me speak to your King? It may be discourteous for me to stay at his tower without being granted permission beforehand.'

Faramir nodded, and graciously offered to carry the Elf's gear whilst he beckoned to the door in one swift motion. 'I am not sure if the King is occupied at this moment in time, but if I ask him in your courtesy, then mayhap he will be quick to give you permission. For to my knowledge, he has many Elf-friends, and would therefore have no objections to your stay; aside from that, I know he will listen to me – for I am one of his friends, Captain Faramir of Gondor who is now Lord Faramir of Ithilien. But what may your name be?'

'Faunel,' he answered, obediently following the Human into the White Tower. 'In my tongue, it means Star-Cloud.'

'Oh?' the Prince spun his head as he walked, and looked into the face of the stranger behind him. 'I do not understand why a babe would have been endowed such a name as Star-Cloud, and yet I perceive that it has some sort of beauty to it. But tell me, Master Elf-Cloud. I saw you walking towards Minas Tirith on the rocky plains South of Gondor, but is it true that you were not alone? I saw that you approached with another figure… a figure with a golden head.'

Faunel stiffened, and bowed his head in haste.

'No,' he swallowed. 'No, there was no other. I journeyed to Minas Tirith alone.'

Faramir looked at the nervous Elf, shrugged, and turned his head forward once more. 'Ai, then I must have been mistaken. It was, after all, perhaps three days since I saw your distant figure last.'

Faunel nodded with a faint smile but did not raise his head, and continued to follow the Human across pale floors, up many flights of stairs, along many halls of stone. Slowly, he pursued Faramir's feet; caught between weariness and thought, he did not truly give heed to his surroundings, as hunger also stirred inside of him and his limbs ached. However, he lifted his head slowly as he heard Faramir speaking, having been interrupted from his musing; and the sight that came before him was a sight that would change the course of his fate for the rest of eternity.

A fair Elf with golden hair, more beautiful than he, stood speaking with Faramir. Faunel did not know what awakened within him at that moment; to see the Elf's radiant complexion and deep, blue eyes, deeper than the swirled abyss of the oceans, he could hardly bring himself to replace the imprinted image in his mind. At once interest and curiosity came over him and he wondered who this Eldar was, so graceful with unmatched poise, so exquisite… he wanted to know the name at once, guessed at beautiful names, Laureloth, Alatarien, Lórindol. For they all matched the figure with the flaxen hair, described its streaming perfection, revered his loveliness and grace.

'Legolas, have you seen Aragorn?' Faramir's voice broke his thoughts unexpectedly, surprising him. 'I have an Elf here, he tells me that his name is Faunel; he wishes to see the King to seek permission for temporary accommodation.'

_Legolas? Is that not the name of the Crown Prince of Greenwood the Great?_

'No, I am sorry,' Legolas answered, and it was suddenly clear to Faunel that there was a tinge of sadness upon his face, a hint of a shadow that depressed joy and light, as though he were riddled with darkness and trouble. 'I have not spoken to Estel in two days – perhaps he is in his office, as there must be a lot of paperwork that he is to complete. But this is strange, seeing one of my kindred astray in Gondor. Are you a friend of King Elessar? I know that he has been to many Elf-countries, and has many friends of the Eldar.'

Faunel shook his head. 'Nay, I have not yet met the King. Even when the War had ended, I know that many of my folk traveled here to see him, but I did not.'

'I see,' the Elf-Prince nodded, and politely reached out an elegant hand. 'I am from Eryn Lasgalen, which before the War ended was known as Mirkwood. But there are many of our kin in the apartment in which the King has temporarily given permission to me to stay; Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien have come to stay with Lord Aragorn for some time, and Lord Elrond with his twin sons and his daughter, who is now wedded to the King, are also in Minas Tirith as we speak.'

'Truly? Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel are both here?' Faunel attempted a smile, although his voice quivered slightly with an unknown emotion as he spoke the names. 'And what about your kingdom, Master Legolas? Are you the only one from Eryn Lasgalen?'

'Aye,' Legolas answered. 'But King Thranduil my father will be coming in two weeks, perhaps.'

_King Thranduil! So he **is** the Mirkwood Prince!_

'You did not tell me this,' Faramir hissed, leaning towards Legolas sternly. But the golden-haired Elf only shook his head, calmly looking at the Human as he spoke in a soft whisper.

'Do not worry, my friend. He will not know of what has happened to Aragorn and I. At this moment, I am actually quite weary of that Man – I do not really wish to see him, even though I am to work by his side at all times.'

'But what if he does end up knowing? If Lord Celeborn or one of the Halflings were to utter a word… what! Why do you not wish to see him? What has happened?'

'Nothing,' Legolas sighed, and raising his voice once again he pointed up another flight of stairs. 'Go up to his office, Faramir, and see if he is there. If Faunel is seeking accommodation, then I would recommend that he swore his service to Lord Elessar as one who works for him whilst he is here, even if temporarily; for perhaps it would soften the heart of the King, and calm his currently wavering disposition.'

Before either Faunel or Faramir could ask, the Prince had already strode away, leaving both behind thoroughly bewildered as they listened to the delicate patter of his light Elven feet.

...

_Was it not you who began this, who forced yourself upon me?_

_Forget it, then. I am a fool to have tried…_

Legolas sighed again as he walked down the large hall, his mind filled with bleak memory. He seemed to now discern the tracks that his bad luck were leaving behind; all of them, especially the thrice that he had been with Aragorn, were out of a search for pleasure, and then became so twisted somehow that it became unrecognizable from the intended outcome. And common to these three times, he realized suddenly that he was to be blamed for everything that had occurred; it was not that anyone blamed him, no, not even Aragorn blamed him. But he knew himself, as it hung inside his mind like the black clouds in a snowstorm, that there was always something he should not have done, and many things he did not do that he should have.

And, for what seemed like the thousandth time, the melancholy memory returned, haunted and grasped him in the bony grip of its skeletal hand, and would not let go. Legolas cringed as he thought of that night two days ago, when Aragorn had once again come to him in the night and ordinary conversation turned to a longing for closeness and comfort. And, like the first two times, it had ended in either his own grief or someone else's… on the wedding night, he and Arwen had fallen into a misery like the dark depths of a well; the second time, he had fallen into it himself when he chose his temptation over his morals. And the third, he had brought Aragorn with him; something he had never intended, something that he would have given anything to reverse…

_(Flashback)_

'NO! STOP!'

Legolas pushed Aragorn away from him, with a strength that he did not know from whence it had come; and though it was not powerful enough to push him too far away, it had enough force to startle the unwary King. Breathing hard, the Elf clenched his fist and restrained himself from crying out in pleasure and anger and grief; the bright glint of the Mithril ring at his throat flickered at Aragorn, as though in deadly warning. The Man, absolutely shocked, inched closer, but Legolas only drew back, his face distorted into an expression of pain and longing and suffering.

'Legolas… what is the matter?'

'No, do not touch me,' he panted, his voice trembling. 'Go. Leave. You should not be here, Estel. Please, do not return.'

'Legolas?' Aragorn asked, squinting his eyes as he moved further away from Legolas and knelt upon the bed, staring into the frightened blue eyes that had darkened with yearning. 'Why do you say this?'

'You know why,' the Elf replied in a broken tone, his hand crawling up slowly to clutch at the ring. 'Do not pretend, Aragorn. Do not build a wall for yourself so that your eyes cannot see what lies on the other side. You are wedded to Arwen, Estel; you have been her lover for many long years. Do you honestly think that after two nights with me, when you were intoxicated and could not have known what you were doing, that I can be a convenience for you to bed whilst your wife is weeping in her chambers awaiting your return!'

Aragorn was horrified at this statement.

'I am sorry,' he said, backing further away slightly. 'Oh, Eru. Once again I have allowed my emotions to overrule my judgement.'

'Please. Go,' Legolas answered plainly.

Aragorn flinched slightly. He felt like cursing himself, for having ruined his chance of regaining Legolas' approval. The morning after the wedding night, he had told himself that he were to reform their bond of friendship… and he loathed himself for falling into lust every single time he encountered the Elf. The Man sighed.

'No matter what we have endured or will confront,' the King said slowly, 'you are still, and perpetually, my best friend.'

'Friends do not sleep with friends, Estel.'

Aragorn began to lose his patience. 'Listen—'

'—No, Aragorn; you love her. You have loved her from the moment you saw her, you have shared embraces and moonlit kisses with her that I do not even know of, and I will not have you sleep with me whilst your affections are with another; you grieve to see your bond with her crumble, and I grieve to know that I am the one who shattered it. I am no temporary hollow on which you may conveniently vent your lust until your true lover has forgiven you, Estel. You do not love me, and have never belonged to me; just leave!'

At this point, Aragorn's face darkened with an emotion that Legolas could not truly distinguish; it was as though the flickering shadow of some ghost had abruptly been thrown over the Man's head like a thin blanket of rippling dark water, red wavelets shivering from dancing candlelight. Then, he spoke; the voice was equally dark with an indiscernible passion, filled with erupting irritation, and at the same time silent sensations of a dusky appetite.

'You do not trust me,' he stated suspiciously.

Legolas inhaled, tightening his grasp on cold Mithril. 'I wish to; but I cannot. Go back to your Evenstar, mellon nîn. Perhaps it is not too late. Your heart has ever only belonged to her.'

Suddenly, the Man rose from the bed, and picked up his wrinkled breeches that had been sprawled over the floor beside where the two had lain. And, completely unforeseen to Legolas, he reached into the leather belt and pulled out a silver dagger; he held it lightly and with skill, the menacing tip outshining the previous challenge of the Mithril ring. Aragorn held the delicate weapon with both hands, one fingering the elegant new blade, and swiftly turned his eyes to the Elf who lay on the bed.

'For a time, I will bear your mark,' he said, repeating the Elf's words. Legolas stared at him in horror, not knowing what plan lay behind the shadowy dark eyes.

'…Aragorn…?'

_(End Flashback)_

_...  
_

'Come in.'

The large door creaked open, a shrill sound of piercing sharpness that reminded Aragorn of cold Ringwraiths. As he shuddered at the notion, a gust of cold air and the smell of youthful leaves filled the room; the clean scent drowned the pungent smell of bitter smoke that wafted from the single candle on the wooden desk, standing as proudly as an ancient tree that sires a forest of young wood. Aragorn lay his quill down gently upon the table, its fine hairs rustling in the sudden breeze, and turned his head around just in time to see the warm face of Faramir appearing in the doorway.

'Ah, beloved Prince of Ithilien,' Aragorn smiled, hardly noticing the lean figure that stood behind him. 'I am quite absorbed in paperwork at this moment, but I have been trapped in this room for two days straight without breath, so after much writing I do desire someone's company. Tell me, what is it that brings you here? You have very rarely come to my office.'

'I come on behalf of this Elf,' Faramir answered, beckoning Faunel to walk forward and present himself before the King. The Elf did so, bowing in respect. 'His name is Faunel, and has been traveling from the barren wastelands of the South for many days; he is weary, wishes to replenish his supplies, and seeks accommodation in Minas Tirith.'

'For how long?' the King inquired. Faunel raised his head, and Aragorn saw beautiful eyes, but somehow different in quality to the eyes of Legolas and Undómiel.

'Until I can regain my strength,' he stated.

_Yes. Until I can regain it…_

Aragorn nodded. 'Very well, Faramir, he may take an empty guard-house in one of the lower circles—'

'—Would it be possible for me to take one of the houses in the second to topmost circle?'

'Yes, that will be fine and, Faramir, I will put you in charge of him as your guest. He wants to bathe, no doubt, so bring him some fresh clothes and make sure he is dressed before luncheon; tell your cooks to produce for three henceforth, so that he may dine with you and Éowyn. But how, Master Faunel, will I be able to record your presence in this city? I do not truly wish for the understandable needs of one Elf to bring a swarm of others who desire uncontrolled accommodation in Minas Tirith.'

Faunel remembered Legolas' words, and slid down on one knee, lowering his head. 'Then I shall pledge to you my service, King of Gondor, to work beneath your command until my strength is fully restored.'

The King smiled, and gestured for the Elf to stand. 'Very well, I accept your service. You shall take your oath after luncheon, after the madness of all this paperwork is finished, so that I may attend it. In the meantime, cleanse yourself and meet those who dwell in Minas Tirith! There are even some of your kindred here, for many came to witness my marriage to my Elven wife Arwen Undómiel; they are in a white house in the sixth circle, where you will also find your house, if you wish to gather with them.'

'I have heard; I have met one of them, already,' Faunel explained, a grin upon his face. 'Legolas, Crown Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. He has told me of Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and the other Elves of Lothlórien and Imladris. He also mentioned something very interesting; he sounds as though he is reasonably annoyed with you, Lord Aragorn.'

Faramir tensed, shocked at the boldness of the Elf who did not understand what was happening; but Aragorn only sighed, and shrugged.

'Oh, we had a minor argument. I know however that he is my dearest friend, closest to me of all who resides in Middle-Earth, and such a conflict will not lead to anything devastating. But let us leave the matter; it is of much more importance that you are ready before luncheon, so that you may make yourself presentable.'

'Thank you, my Lord,' Faunel bowed and, led by Faramir, promptly left the chambers as suddenly as he had come.

For some reason, there was something about the dark-haired Elf that Aragorn did not like. He was undeniably beautiful, with a fair face to challenge that of Elrohir and Elladan; but the air around him was full of something mysterious to Aragorn, mischief perhaps, some sort of friskiness that was displayed clearly in the way he had outwardly told the King of Legolas' behavior regarding him. It felt… somewhat dangerous.

But secretly, it was also because he had made into a jest something which had deeply scarred him; like spiked twigs and sharp thorns pricking at his mind, the bitter memory returned, bled the painful reminiscence as it had done so for the past two days. And unknown to him, in another part of the White Tower, Legolas stopped in the middle of the hallway in which he was walking and pressed his hand to the stone wall for support; he was envisioning the same thing as Aragorn at that same moment, a memory so strong that it made him stagger…

_(Flashback)_

'…Aragorn…?'

Legolas lay in the bed terrified, and could not lift his gaze from the sparkling blade of the dagger that lay in the Man's hand. A song seemed to come from it, a song that he heard before from the icy Mithril of the ring that hung at his throat… both the dagger and the ring seemed to share something now, seemed to emanate a sense of unity, fitted together like bird and sky, or land and light; it frightened him. Aragorn passed it into his right hand now; the fingers of his left hand roughly pulled back flesh upon his own bare chest and held the glistening skin taut.

To Legolas' absolute horror, looking down with humility at his fingertips, Aragorn raised the dreaded blade.

'ARAGORN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!'

But the Man hardly heeded the words, as he pressed the sharp dagger to his heart. Legolas released a strangled cry and had just risen from the bed to stop him, when he realized from the way Aragorn was holding the blade that he had no intention of taking his own life; it was pressed level against his tight flesh, instead of the point touching the skin – which told the Elf that the Man was carving something into his chest, as a grey stone strikes a slab in a Dwarven coffin. But even so Legolas heard him wince, and the pain the King seemed to endure made him desperately wish to take the dagger away; but before he could even muster the courage to move, the dagger fell and clattered with dark silvery music upon the grey floor, drops of blood tainting the rigid plate of white gold.

And then, stillness, silence.

However, even then, after Aragorn had finished, Legolas' great alarm had taken him in a grip of cold sweat and rushed heartbeat, so that the secret ropes that held his body together had tightened its arms and would not allow him to move. But neither did Aragorn move, who only looked at his new wound calmly, a tiny stream of red trickling from an smothered scar. Watching in a thorough daze of shock, it took Legolas a moment longer before his senses were restored and his frozen body could move towards the Man.

'Estel… Estel…' he said softly, lifting his blouse from the ground and immediately cleaning the bloodstained flesh with utmost tenderness. He did not know what had just happened, could not perceive what had provoked all this madness. Aragorn sighed, and noticed that Legolas could not say aught else; only his name escaped the quivering lips, that paled in dying candlelight. The King only stroked the soft hand of the Elf that was tending to him, caressed it with consolation, reassuring through touch that no harm had been done.

When Legolas was finished, he drew back. Staring intently at the wound, mouth partly open in sharp awareness, he realized suddenly what Aragorn had done; there was no fuss that was worth making over what had just occurred. On the flesh, on the bare patch of skin on the taut chest, Aragorn had carved a rough circle, composed of many straight strokes; it still bled slightly, and was slightly larger than the size of the Mithril ring, but Legolas knew that it was in the same place where the faded burn had once flared.

Legolas opened his mouth wider, stammered, and did not end up speaking.

Aragorn nodded slowly, and bowed his head. 'You are my best friend. If I cannot have you, then at least I shall remember you. Henceforth it will always be here.'

He pointed to the wound as he said this.

But knowing that it would not pierce the Elf's mind, he gently lifted his garments from the floor and began to dress; the Prince calmly watched, his heart filled with so many burning emotions that he could not discern one from another. As though from some secret sensation of dissuasion, he brought to his body his own shirt that he had used to wipe away the small wound of the Man, and cautiously covered himself. When Aragorn had finished, he turned to the Elven Prince and bowed; Legolas did not know what the gesture was for, but he did not need to ask, for the Man immediately spoke.

'I apologize if I had engraved upon your mind the wrong impression,' he uttered blankly. 'But unless that was all it meant to you, I would not understand how you could see any of our encounters as carnality.'

Legolas sighed.

'I do not know what you are implying it means to you,' the Elf answered, 'but it is not love. You really are confusing me, Estel. You wish to regain my attention, but claim it is not lechery. Then it could be nothing but love, and I know you do not love me.'

Aragorn wished he could protest against such a comment; but even as he opened his mouth, no words came forth.

'You have not spoken to your wife yet of all which has happened; the only reason she knows is because she had accidentally stumbled into the bedchamber whilst you were drunken and I myself had been filled with longing.'

'Legolas… I have not yet spoken to her,' Aragorn confessed hesitantly, 'but I have planned to gather these matters together, and have counsel with her eventually. I have just been too busy these past few days to do so.'

'But when, Estel? When? Because I know how much you love her, how much you reminisced being with her when you were separated during the War, I cannot see these circumstances as any less than your usage of me as a child's doll to be bedded when your flesh desires it, and your usage of Arwen as a beautiful woman to be by your side in your great kingship. How can you prove me otherwise? There is nothing you can say that will defend your actions, Estel.'

This angered the King, and he spoke louder, his voice tumultuous in the echoing vastness of the bedchamber; though it frightened the Elf slightly to think that he had raised the wrath of the one jewel that sparkled most in his heart, he tried not to show any sign that he was being swayed, and remained standing boldly where he had been.

'You still do not trust me, even after all this. And how could you, as my closest friend, accuse me of wedding Arwen only to look impressive in future counsels just because my wife is a beautiful Elven woman with the blood of Lúthien in her veins?'

'Ah, so you do love her,' Legolas retorted. 'So you didn't wed her only to seem a great Man. And I find the thought almost inconceivable of anyone who is as valiant in their lifetime as you to consider loving two and courting both at once as something which is not wrong. Do not deny it, Estel. For was it not you who began this, who forced yourself upon me?'

Aragorn swallowed.

'…Forced?' he repeated in a whisper, the Elf's words having pierced his heart like spikes thrust from a loathsome hand. 'Was it not you who eagerly accepted my advances? These last two times, you were the one who pleaded me to come to bed. Have you not desired me to the point that you have even shooed Gimli from here to share Gandalf's bedchamber instead?'

'I asked him if I could have a chamber to myself, so that I would have been able to think,' Legolas answered angrily, his voice and face showing a dark shadow of his bubbling wrath. 'How dare you accuse me of surrendering to your lust. Just leave, before one of us is harmed! And I swear that not only would I loathe for you to touch me again, but that I also do not know how I will ever see you the same way.'

_You understand now, Estel, that I could never again love you the same way!_

The Man looked at Legolas, whose intense eyes now resembled Undómiel on the day that they had argued on the white stair; and not only was that memory returned to him because of the excessively grieved expression that had been planted on the Elf's face, but also because he had stated similar words as the Evenstar had. And suddenly, all at once, he understood. He understood that although Legolas was wrong about the matter of lechery, in another way he was also right.

He should never have touched another whilst he was bound in heart to the Evenstar.

'JUST GO! LEAVE ME!'

'Forget it, then,' the King mumbled awkwardly and turned, which surprised the Mirkwood Elf, who was not expecting it. 'I am a fool to have tried.'

And with only those words he left the bedchamber, leaving no trace that he had ever been there except for his faint shadowy scent upon Legolas' skin, which was fading from the flesh as rolling mist that was blown away by the breath of sharp wind.

_(End Flashback)_

_...  
_

'I think you may have this apartment, Master Faunel,' Faramir said, opening a door to a small white house. 'I know not of the lifestyle and the housing arrangements of the Elves, but I suspect that this will be quite comfortable, even for you.'

'Yes, it is homely,' Faunel answered with a smile and bowed courteously, dropping his luggage down with a thud and walking over slowly to the window. Then, looking back at the Ithilien Prince with a subtle hint in his eyes, he stated, 'Perhaps it would be a good idea to follow the instruction of the King and bathe before I take my vows… I can just see you if I am in need of anything, right?'

'Oh, indeed, indeed,' the Human said in haste, turning to leave the room; he had understood the hint loud and clear. 'I will have a handmaid come to these quarters and fill the tub in the smaller room with hot water; come see me in the Tower afterward for luncheon – just ask someone for my whereabouts or my wife Lady Éowyn's. I will leave you now to your privacy.'

'Thank you, my Lord,' Faunel grinned, and watched silently as Faramir walked outside and closed the door. His footsteps were heard quickly moving away into the distance.

The Elf made sure that he could no longer hear the Human Prince nor any other shuffling bodies lingering around the house, before he leaned out the window, very bent in his body like the long leaves of an old willow; wisps of his long cloak draped halfway inside the room and halfway outside. And suddenly, in a quiet and yet piercing voice that would have made any who had seen him at that moment misconceive him for a dark serpent, he hissed, 'Mela nîn! Mela nîn!'

A murky figure emerged suddenly from the slender shadows outside, alike an elegant demon rising from the mysterious depths of undisturbed water.

(To be continued)


	8. Cloud Over Leaf

**TORMENTED FOOL 7: CLOUD OVER LEAF**

When Legolas awakened, the sun was already shining brightly upon his face as harsh as a smith beats down on metal. He yawned and rubbed his sore eyes, quickly adjusting the collar of his night-mantle that had slid down untidily over his bare shoulder; rising to sit upon the white sheets, he ran his fingers quickly through his hair and gave a slight moan of exhaustion. He had not slept well in several days. It was not as though an Elf needed much sleep; no, they could go without for many nights, but he would have much rather slept than heed the images in his mind, the images that caused him to feel love and guilt and sorrow.

Suddenly, a figure standing above him came into view; Legolas had not seen the frame before that moment, dark as the night and yet at the same time pale as the mountains. With an undignified shriek the Prince's heart crashed into the roof of his mouth and he toppled over the side of the bed; the sheets, caught around the slender foot, followed him in a whirling cascade onto the ground. The figure stood over the Prince, laughing; it was now that Legolas perceived, after he had brushed the golden tangle from before his eyes, that the stranger was that remarkably handsome dark-haired Elf, that Faunel who had been walking with Faramir several days before – as tall as trees that reach the roof of clouds and, he was surprised he did not notice before, equally beautiful as a cloud itself.

'Fair morn, Prince of Mirkwood,' he grinned. Legolas regained his composure and stood, carrying the bundle of sheets in slightly bent arms.

'Star-Cloud. What business have you in my bedchamber, watching me like prey as I sleep? Who permitted you to enter?'

Faunel smirked mischievously and, taking the sheets from Legolas, tossed them casually back onto the bed. 'You have no guard before your door. So I assumed that you did not mind visitors coming to stop by.'

He noticed the golden-haired Elf stiffen with anger, but he himself only placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head aslant.

'There may be no guards before my door, but this is the residence of the Fellowship of the Ring – in which abides my close comrades since the War – and I have certainly made sure that a guard was posted at the door of this _house_, if not my bedchamber. How did he permit you to enter when it is strictly forbidden to allow anyone admittance without the leave of Mithrandir?'

The dark-haired Elf laughed, and softly touched the Prince's cheek with an expression of adoration written upon his face. 'Ah, so was that the Man who lay sprawled along the doorway as I stepped in, fast asleep? Your guard has betrayed you. My hands are clean of such a punishable deed.'

Legolas could little understand the mesmerizing eyes, glistening stones in the head that he felt he needed to whack in irritation for such a disturbance, but the Prince could not lift his gaze, even though he knew he was only looking into the face of one lower than himself. In the darkest hollows of his heart, he could not bring himself to deny it: Faunel was so beautiful. Everything about the strange dark-haired Elf was immeasurably attractive, especially his smile; a soft mouth curved upwards, in a very suave fashion, riddled with mischievous amusement. Legolas reached up to remove Faunel's smooth and spellbinding hand from his cheek, but found that he could not release it from his own until a few moments after he had done so; he knew well that Faunel had acted upon something that he could certainly be penalized for and had even dared to argue of it, but for a reason unknown, he hardly cared to heed such a matter.

'Very well,' Legolas said slowly, his gaze still locked upon the gleaming eyes. 'But you know now not to enter my chambers unless I have given you direct permission. It is not too difficult to knock, Star-Cloud. Now tell me, what incited you to invade my privacy – and worse yet, to do so whilst I was sleeping?'

Faunel laughed, a laugh which almost tore the Prince's heart in two.

'Your father is up in the tower,' he grinned.

Legolas' eyes widened in shock. 'By Ilúvatar, that soon? I thought there was at least another two days or so until his presumed arrival.'

He smiled very gently, but at the same time it was a smile that pricked at Legolas' heart. Faunel crossed his arms to his heart in a very pointed manner.

'Then mayhap you should dress yourself presentably, my fair Prince, and see him before his temper is at its peak. Because it is quite clear to me that your father, at present, ails from a perilous mood.'

Legolas could do no more than narrow his eyes.

'By the way, Lord,' Faunel's face twisted into a murky smile with a coldness that resembled that of a hooded wraith, 'that trinket which you carry upon your throat is indeed beautiful. Who had given it to you?'

The golden-haired Elf walked over to a fresh heap of folded clothes on his nearby chair, looked back darkly upon the smirking Star-Cloud, and promptly fled from the chamber clenching the soft bundle of garments in his arms.

...

The King of Mirkwood paced angrily around the guest-chamber that one of the guards of Gondor had given him, as restless as a starved tiger seeking prey, a misty emotion in his eyes that swirled so potently that not even his anxious son could discern what it was that plagued his father's mind. Legolas could do no more than sit helplessly like a beaten prisoner awaiting death in the chair on which his father had demanded silence whilst he gathered together his thoughts; Faunel definitely had not been jesting in saying that the King was suffering from the most terrible of dispositions, for the golden-haired Prince had never seen his father so full of wrath.

Legolas, however, was not senseless; he knew that if Thranduil was angry and sent for him to come to his chambers, whatever caused his murderous temper must have concerned him. But it seemed, as he watched the day moving slowly outside, that he had been in that chair for an eternity waiting for his father to speak. The Prince sighed in boredom all of a sudden, but as soon as the breath escaped his teeth, at once he regretted not restraining it; for Thranduil turned around from the window that he had been so impatiently staring out of, and lay a thundering gaze upon the face of his son that could have flung him through the wall into the next chamber.

'Do you know why I have called you here, my son?' he said at last.

Legolas still could not comprehend what thoughts stirred in the darkening eyes, but he was not too keen on arousing it with an insulting remark, so he answered his father tenderly. 'No, my Lord; but you have summoned me here to speak to me and I have come as was your will.'

Thranduil reached plainly into an inner pocket inside his shimmering green-silver mantle, and pulled out a folded piece of yellowing parchment that was almost crumpled alike a dry leaf in his hand as he grasped it.

'A messenger was sent to me from Minas Tirith some time ago whilst I was on business in Lothlórien, bearing a message from the Queen Undómiel of Gondor. This letter,' the King casually shook the parchment in his hand, 'was what Lady Arwen had sent to me, informing me that you had not only dallied with her husband, but also incited him to drink until he was too drunken to refuse you.'

Legolas tensed, understanding at once his father's anger, but said nothing.

'But no, that was not all. She had graciously not failed to mention that Estel's affections for her had waned, and that after you had _so kindly_ taken the Man away from her on their wedding night, he had openly dared to look past her and chase after your intimacies, seeming more filled with childish ideals of purely friendly affection rather than with remorse for having committed adultery on the night that he had been wedded to her. Do you think this comforts me?'

The Prince bowed his head in shame, but did not break the locked gaze that he held with his father, whom he had never known to be perilous. A dark rage stirred in Legolas' heart like a billowing storm all of a sudden, to know that one of the closest of his friends had reached so far in the line of betrayal to have sent such a message to his father; even though he knew well it was not her fault, fury still warred in him, a desire to cast Elvish curses that beat down upon the heart like a maddening storm.

Unexpectedly to him, Faunel's beautiful and taunting face appeared in his mind, jeering mercilessly at his torment; at once Legolas crossed his arms defensively, loathing himself for the thought – and at the same time, wishing – that Aragorn was together with him, protecting him with gentle Elvish words of comfort from the building rage of the King of Mirkwood.

'Nay,' he nodded helplessly, unable to do aught else. 'But this was not Aragorn's doing; I have already caused him much grief in these past few weeks, to such a point that he cannot even share the same bedchamber as his most beloved wife. It does not comfort me either, Father, to know that the King of Gondor has begun sleeping on a firm chair in his office only to wake to the sight of more paperwork piled upon the desk whilst he had been sleeping. He does not deserve your words of anger; he has already suffered too much of mine, which had been far more cruel.'

'I had never uttered a single word that signified my belief that his adultery was of his doing,' Thranduil retorted plainly. 'He is a noble Man, and it is difficult to believe that he has been driven to the lowest of circumstances, but never did I say that the fault was his own.'

Legolas almost strangled on his own sorrow. 'You are calling me a whore, then, for being unable to express what had been growing in my heart before someone else had done so first.'

The King's eyes widened at this answer.

'Nay, Legolas. You are my son, and I love you,' his tumultuous voice calmed as he slowly walked over to the chair where the young Prince sat, stroking the golden head with utmost tenderness. 'I cannot find it in my heart to banish you for such a deed, if what you say is truly what you mean. But if I were to lift any kind of punishment from you, you must promise me something; that you will help Estel, who I know well had been one of your closest friends since his youth, to mend the broken bond he had shared with his lover, and to tolerate that it was she that he had loved first. You know deep in your heart that it is not too late for him to heal from his hurts and to regain the nobility which he had been so well-known for, and to find bliss once more with Undómiel.'

The Prince's mind was immediately filled with vengeful arguments, and his lower lip quivered as he tried to choose which of the sharp phrases in his mind he would cry out, but found that to everything he wanted to say his father will always have an argument: Aragorn loved Arwen first, and it was your fault for not having claimed the Man earlier; Arwen had wedded the King, so there had been no acceptable reason for you to dally with another's husband and cause an honorable man to commit a deed as low as adultery; you are a Prince, and had no right in dishonoring your father's kingdom by sleeping with someone else's lover; there were many beautiful Elf-Princesses in lands abroad that you could have chosen, and if you preferred not maidens, then many young Princes in many realms that would gladly take your hand. Gondor is shamed from the carnality of the King, so you must stay away and remain tormented; Arwen is filled with blind vengeance at your love – or, as she sees it, lust – for the Man, so you must stay away and remain tormented. And, the worst, most painful, most grief-striking of all, your love for Aragorn is understandable, but at the same time unacceptable, so you must surrender him if you love him.

_I know. I must stay away and remain tormented_.

'I had been refusing his affections anyway,' the Elf-Prince uttered almost inaudibly at last. 'I have known this without you having to tell me, Father.'

'I'm glad you understand,' Thranduil crossed his arms pointedly and smiled in a way which darkened even more the anger festering in his son's heart.

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud creak that echoed throughout the vast grey chambers, and Aragorn entered the room solemnly, bowing respectfully to the Mirkwood King; but he saw at once the beautiful Elf sitting in the chair and the doubt-riddled eyes that looked desperately at him, and flinched as he knew immediately what he was about to hear.

'You wished to see me, Lord Thranduil.'

Legolas sighed and, rising hesitantly from his chair like the slow sun, walked past the Man, seeking the comforting coldness of the biting air outside.

...

Faunel stood atop the stair outside of the Tower, his gaze skimming across the white hues of the morning. So fairly, he mused, did the sunlight kiss the stones of misty grey; in the gentle rays, the foundations of Minas Tirith seemed to emanate a light of silver-white, like the first wisps of snow and mist in the winter that paled and parted upon ashen fingertips. At last, as his eyes fell upon the scion of the White Tree in flower, with blooming buds that shone like snowdrops in its bent branches, he understood why Faramir was so fond of this pale stair; it was where the surroundings swallowed him sweetly, where he could release for a moment all the concerns and purposes of his mind, and enjoy the beauty of the new Middle-Earth which is now freed of the terrors of Sauron the Abhorred. So long had he lived in desolate lands, that he could not remember such embraces from the earth and the air which Minas Tirith, the City of the Edain, was offering to him; deserving indeed shall be the passing of the world into the hands of the Younger Children of Ilúvatar, though the Dominion Of Men had never been a thought which Faunel did not doubt.

When a dark shimmer emerged in the corner of his eye, he thought at first that a raincloud was passing; but then, turning his gaze into its direction, he spied a very fair Elf with long dusky hair who he knew at once was of high stature by the inner light that seemed to gleam about her heart. But even though she was exceedingly beautiful, there was a weariness in her that issued from the cloudiness in her eyes, the paleness of her face… the quivering of her slender fingers. Clad all in black was she, seeming to challenge the light and joy of the Tower; her very presence failed not to create a icy spur which clawed into Faunel's heart, especially as her shadowy watch befell him now, weary eyes of smoke beneath a shade of tumbling hair.

'You are an Elf,' she said.

The needlessness of jest at such a moment was painfully transparent, but the words escaped his tongue nonetheless: 'And so are you, Lady.'

'From whither came you, master Elf? I have not seen you in my tower before. What business have you in Minas Tirith? Are you a friend of my husband's?'

Faunel almost laughed. 'I know not who you are, fair Lady, so neither would I know your lover. Unless he is the Crown Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, whom I have met twice only. Perhaps his nobility, if he _is_ your husband, may render clear to me why it is you seem so watchful of all the comings and goings of Gondor.'

'Legolas of Mirkwood?' The very name turned the already ashen face white with anger, and at once Faunel regretted such an unneeded jest. 'Now that is a remark worthy of remembrance. You are the first in all Middle-Earth to mistake that Elf for my husband; and furthermore, to mistake him for even _having_ a lover is enough to cause my head to spin. Now tell me your name, or I will make sure this day does not pass without my vengeance upon you.'

Faunel cringed, and hated and feared the dark-haired Lady at once.

'Tell me your name first,' he answered firmly, 'so that I would know to whom I am identifying myself.'

The Lady laughed drearily, removing the strands of hair from before her eyes with thin white fingers. 'Very well, then, only so that you will know to whom it is truly that you have dared to speak so boldly. My name is Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond Half-Elven of Imladris. My husband, Elessar, is King in this City; and now that I have made myself known to you, you shall identify yourself to me, or suffer my dire wrath before the black of nightfall can hide you.'

A gloomy laugh sounded from behind them, and Arwen turned around angrily; Faunel fell onto his knees before the Queen but lifted his eyes slowly, surprised to see the Mirkwood Prince walking into view with his arms crossed in careless ignorance. And, even as the eyes of Arwen and Legolas slowly met, it seemed to Faunel that utter discomfort blazed between them, as though there was an invisible line of thunderbolts that passed between their eyes.

'His name is Faunel, Arwen; he is still one of our people, a Star-Cloud of the Elf-kindred,' Legolas blankly uttered. 'Do not act so rashly so quickly; we all have our most bitter days and we have dealt with it seemingly better than you. This is a weary traveler seeking peace, Undómiel.'

'And this business is not yours, Lord Legolas. You are not Queen of Gondor who has the right to ask the boarders of her City their names, but I.'

Faunel felt as though a great filthy worm had writhed its way into his insides, as he respectfully hid his eyes from the beautiful and terrible Lady. Legolas' hand slid slowly onto his shoulder and pulled him up from his knees; he was so thankful suddenly for the presence of the golden-haired Prince, for a shadowy hate had crept within him, and he feared the fell rage of the Queen – were she to have one. But now, only a flutter of excitement was issuing from the soft beats of Faunel's heart, at the touch of the slender hand on his shoulder that did not let go; but he refused to reveal it in Arwen's presence, remembering her murky response to the very name of the Elven Prince.

Legolas smiled, but there was a gloomy quality in his expression. 'And I have told you his name, have I not?'

Arwen said nothing, but defeatedly turned upon her heel and retreated into the Tower, her black mantle flailing mercilessly at the air like a dark cloud of ghosts.

...

Far above, Aragorn had just finished speaking to Thranduil and retreated to his office sullenly, having been told by the wise King that for both his own sake and for the sake of the young Mirkwood Prince, they must remain friends only if they desired to hold that friendship at all. Aragorn sighed as he walked through the heavy door of the familiar room, where he had been surviving alone for some time; the smell of dust and lifelessness lingered in the small chamber like a heavy cloud, a feeling close to that of hot storms. His body ached from the hard chair that he had been sleeping in for many nights, and his heart ached from need of contact with _anyone_; he knew that nothing now would comfort him, not even the warm smile of the golden-haired Prince between fair blushing cheeks, or the touch of the Elf's smooth hand against his own. That is, if Legolas would ever wish to come nigh him again.

Pressing his lips together sourly, he bent down over the disarray of assorted items scattered across the hard surface of his table, and lifted his untidy mass of books and clothing from the far corner. Though this disorderly chamber was where he had lived, he knew now that there was no choice for him but to return to his wife; he understood what it may mean to Arwen if he appeared at the Royal Bedchamber, looking spent and slovenly, carrying miserably his possessions in his arms. He understood her words clearly when she had cried out that she would no longer love him again in the way she did before; guiltily, as the Man prepared to return to the Elven Queen, he knew that his love for her was also uncertain, and that their marriage would until one of their deaths be a bond of feeble numbness and grievous tears of regret.

But just as he turned from the table and walked towards the door once again, a faint voice bubbled from the vast air outside the broad window. Aragorn breathed suddenly and was halted mid-stride, as though strong arms had gripped at him from behind and was holding the slender waist with firm and vengeful fingers; the voice was that of the Prince who had become a flame that burned so warmly in his heart – and, feeling something suddenly fall through his soul, he dropped the items that had rested in his arms and ran at once to the window behind his table. He did not know what his mind was trying to tell him, but a bitter jealousy had suddenly surged through him like a cold flood beneath howling gales and slanting rain, a feeling that he had never known before; though somehow he understood, as he ran to the side of the wooden counter and leaned out to gaze from the window, that whatever gave him this emotion could not be pleasant.

And then the sight met him, the sight that almost strangled him, that robbed the soft breath from him before he even realized that there was no air left within his being. Below the Tower, Legolas and Faunel stood together, and the Prince laughed brightly as the dark-haired Elf touched his arm and openly kissed the fair brow; then, when their bodies had parted from its unmistakable closeness, Legolas ran his hand softly across Faunel's tender cheek with a lingering intimacy as he backed away, and swiftly fled. The King's hands trembled as he watched from above, as he watched that Elven stranger who had come to stay at his City standing alone at the top of the white stair, a delicate hand raised in farewell.

...

The door to the tower slammed behind the two Elves with an echo that filled the air, and blew the long hair from their shoulders with the gust of wind it made in closing. Legolas bowed his head in guilt, knowing that he had once again caused trouble; he imagined suddenly the terrible things Arwen would do to him, the angry and unmerciful revenges that she could be devising in her head even as she stormed through the grey halls at that moment. However, it was clear to him that Faunel saw it not so; for he breathed a sigh of relief at the Evenstar's departure, and took his hand and kissed it reverently as though the Prince had already given him permission for contact.

'Thank you, my Lord,' Faunel smiled sweetly. 'I promise you that I will not forget this. Forgive me for my childish jests this morn; it seems as though I had angered you – and that is something I would never wish for, having met no other jewel such as you in my lifetime.'

Legolas laughed, but shook his hand free from Faunel's gentle hold. 'Ah, so there _is_ a shred of grace in you, Master Star-Cloud?'

'You need not constantly speak my name in Westron,' Faunel replied, 'For that is only done by those who know me not well. But your recognition flatters me, my fair Prince; even though I know that whatever grace you see in me does not even equal half of you.'

The golden-haired Elf smiled, feeling such warmth within him at the words, and took the humble hand once again. All of a sudden, a strange thought struck his mind: he had felt this hand before, he had known this gentleness already. But he did not know where, and had been intimate enough with only one that could have evoked this within him; but he knew Aragorn's touch was slightly different, calmer and closely tighter, whereas Faunel was in some way more eager and yet distantly unbound. No, it was not Aragorn whose hand resembled this, he realized. However, he heeded not the stubborn thoughts, and returned his mind to the Elf before him.

'You have in only one statement awakened more light in my heart than many have been able to over a span of days,' he admitted with a sigh. 'For many days I have not been myself, for there were many things which had replaced my joy with doubt.'

'Such as what, my Lord? Did your father say something that provoked unease in you?'

But Legolas bowed his head and said nothing. Faunel frowned worriedly as he lifted up the dainty chin with his free hand, and the Prince blushed as he looked up at the dark-haired Elf, whose pale face looked so beautiful at that moment, so comely, that his fairness shone into Legolas' eyes and made him feel as though he were anything but fair; no matter how exalted the title of Crown Prince was to him, he felt suddenly as though he was below this magnificent and ethereal creature before him, who could easily be revered. And his soft voice, along with the compassionate words, melted his heart of stone; he in his wonder forgot suddenly that Aragorn had the same kind of voice, and yet slightly different, a voice that had wooed him in the night of the wedding of the King and Queen.

'It seems to me that you need time,' Faunel uttered tenderly. 'Perhaps you can speak to me later, when all the bitterness residing in your mind has been sorted. But I have only stayed a while in this City, and will be long in regaining my strength to continue on my journey. In this time I will be always here to hearken to your troubles – confide in me when you are ready, my Prince, and I promise you that my comfort will meet the most that anyone can give.'

Legolas smiled weakly. 'I will not be ready for some time, but your promise of comfort sounds heartening to me. I am interested in speaking to you nonetheless, though it be not regarding the matter of what is currently grievous in my heart; perhaps you could see me tonight.'

Faunel beamed suddenly; this invitation had been very unexpected, and yet was something that he had wished for through all this conversation.

'Indeed. In the meantime, think not of your hurts, and do only things which will bring gladness to your mind; for at the moment, that is what you need. I hope your smile will be greater when we meet again this evening, my Lord.'

And, as a warm and caring gesture, Faunel touched Legolas' arm and kissed his brow delicately; Legolas responded with a merry laugh, unable to believe that this gracious Elf was the same as the one who in the harshness of the morning had been so irritating. And, breaking away from the warm closeness, the Mirkwood Prince ran his gentle hand across Faunel's cheek in mischievous jest and smirked as he backed away.

'Call me Legolas.'

And unexpectedly, to his own surprise, he turned on his own feet and ran down the white stair; he understood little of what stirred within him, but whatever it could be, it certainly took away half the sorrow that had riddled him for the many days before. And in his utter joy, he did not see Faunel behind him raise a hand, let alone the dark smile that tainted the fair face after the Prince was long gone from the courtyard of grey stone.

(To be continued)


	9. Breaking Old Ties

**TORMENTED FOOL 8: BREAKING OLD TIES**

'I am worried.'

Éowyn turned to her husband in surprise. They had stood in silence on the pale stair of the White Tower for a long time, welcoming the serenity of the early afternoon; the stirring of guards and citizens in the lower circles, as well as the soft sunlight and cool breeze, was calming to them. Although, as it turned out, perhaps it may not have been enough to distract Faramir from his recent thoughts. Éowyn sighed.

'What is it that worries you, my love?'

'I do not know,' he answered darkly, without looking at her. 'Everything is rousing an unsettled feeling within me. I believe something may be brewing.'

Her eyebrows slanted mournfully. 'This is not about Legolas again, I hope?'

'We have not seen him for a long time,' answered Faramir almost immediately. 'Who knows what may be happening behind closed doors, what he may be doing to himself. I worry for Mithrandir and Lady Galadriel also. I only wish that they would tell us what is on their minds, tell us what they know. Because it is obvious that they indeed know something.'

Éowyn did not know how to answer to this. A discomforting uneasiness suddenly prickled within her, and she knew, all of a sudden, that she shared the way her husband was feeling. They, like everyone else, could feel the gloom that was rising – and she knew that it would hurt everyone immensely if anything were to happen to the Mirkwood Prince. Unexpectedly, and she knew not from whence it had come, her clear voice rang through the air, and a song began to spill from her lips:

_A dweller in the Elven-glades,_

_a lone and moonlit wand'rer,_

_His wind-kissed hair so pale and fair,_

_A gentle, breathless wonder._

_He waits alone – and in the eve,_

_the glade around him shimm'ring,_

_He sings his tale beneath the veil_

_of stars, with soft eyes glimm'ring…_

Faramir did not understand what these words meant, but even though he knew that there must be much more to the song, Éowyn did not continue singing. She tore her gaze away from the soft glow of the Pelennor and looked into his eyes with utmost sorrow; overcome with emotion, he gathered her into his arms and brought her into a soft embrace. She welcomed the gesture, holding him tightly against her, and they remained thus, wordless, for a long time.

...

'Have you ever fallen in love?'

Legolas rolled over in surprise, the long grass brushing lightly against his pale arms, not having expected the question from the silent Elf next to him. He tried to stifle a blatant laugh as he asked, 'Why do you ask, pray tell? Hasn't everyone fallen in love? And that is a very strange question for you to ask from nowhere, having only been close to me for a short time.'

Faunel turned his head, and looked seriously into the eyes of the golden-haired Prince beside him; though Legolas' eyes showed amusement, Faunel's expression was unmistakably serious.

'I only sense that you have fallen out of love, or find no more hope in love.'

'Hope?'

_Estel_.

'Nay, nay,' Legolas tittered, though it was clear now to Faunel that it was not as genuine as the Prince would have liked it to sound. He bent sideways and poked at the nose of the dark-haired Elf mischievously, who wrinkled his nose adorably in reply. 'In love, there is always hope, my friend.'

Faunel looked up innocently at Legolas, who was lying on his side next to him; a gentle hand nudged the fair chin, and he smiled suddenly, a smile which caught the Prince's breath. Faunel evoked so much gentle wonder, for he was not a character who was easy to guess; even so, he was outstandingly kind in Legolas' eyes, for he always showed worry and care, even in the matters that did not concern him.

'Then who is on your mind?' Faunel smirked. 'Is it I? For I would hope so, seeing as I am looking into the eyes of one who is so radiant and beautiful.'

Legolas could not help but laugh, and in his heart something deep from the earth began to stir. 'Ah, so now you hope that my eyes are set on you, do you? You will need much more than a mere questioning to win that, comely one. Would you truly pursue me even though you sense that trouble is on my mind, whilst you could easily have others of the Eldar who would gladly take your hand?'

Faunel turned his gaze to the field of skies that lay above him, and he saw what Legolas felt in his heart; the White Tree, with great boughs that reached and touched one another alike fingertips, stood loftily as a solitary column in a great hall. The grey sky was pale with the shimmering clouds, and the grass, brilliant green in the sun, swirled around him with the smell of life. Birds flew overhead, and the air was a faint spiritual breath. Faunel felt Legolas' gentle hand upon his own, searching for an answer; he grinned and laced his fingers with the Prince's, looking deep into the shimmering eyes.

'I would.'

Legolas heard this, a voice that seemed to come from the depths of the earth, and softly caressed Faunel's wintry hand.

'Then pretend that there is none on my mind,' he uttered, 'and show me what you have in store for me.'

Faunel turned immediately, and did as Legolas had bidden. Among the grasses of the Pelennor, away from the White City, the warmth of life surrounded the two that lay together beneath the sunlit sky, not caring where they were or who could have seen them.

...

The liaison went on, in secret and pleasure, for many moons unknown. Aragorn felt the bitterness of jealousy in his heart, for he knew no more than of the waning heart of the Mirkwood Prince towards him, and that his eyes had turned to the Elven boarder at his tower whose identity was not even well-known to those he spoke to the most. Neither Faramir nor Éowyn, whom Aragorn had pleaded to stay to calm the troubles in his heart, knew much about Faunel; though the Elf was under their care, and dined with them and rested sometimes in their quarters, he spoke very little concerning himself and cared to listen more to news of all things that moved in Gondor. A suspicious and destructive fire burned within Aragorn, a fire of self-loath and anger and, most of all, of jealousy.

Many a night Elrohir came to Legolas' chambers to observe the well-being of his friend; and for most of the nights, though he waited long, the golden-haired Elf never came. On those rare days that he did return to his chambers, whether or not he did so before the middle of the night, he would only bid Elrohir leave and not to worry about visiting him again. Though the vigilant son of Elrond suspected that it was Aragorn who stole the Prince away at night, the wary King only stated that, for many long weeks, he had neither seen nor spoken to Legolas except during work. Seeing the truth that scorched behind Aragorn's eyes, Elrohir was not witless enough not to realize that something was occurring in the darkness, away from all eyes. Yet he wished not to say a word to the grieved King, lest his thoughts be turned away from the welfare of his people.

The Maia Wizard Gandalf and Galadriel the Elf-Queen of Lothlórien worried many, for none ever knew what stirred within their minds; oft they would be seen seated together at a table, looking not at one another nor anyone else, and speechless as they had been that murky day in the fire-room of the Fellowship house. Even they could not decipher the cold winds that froze their spirits to ice, and both feared taking counsel with each other, lest their dim thoughts be false. In this state none dared to rouse them, for all could guess what it was that plagued their hearts, and could do no more than bow their heads in sorrow.

Bitterest of all was Arwen Undómiel, who would do naught but sit upon her bed in the Royal Bedchamber and muse upon nothing. She did not know in the first place what it was that she wished to allow her mind to pass by. She cared not for the genuine attempts of comfort from Elladan her brother or her grandmother, shunned her husband at all costs from seeing her, and fumed within her heart at the very sight of the Mirkwood Prince. And the thought of the strange boarder Faunel, the Elf who had come from nowhere one unexpected day, was very perplexing to her; for she had not known that he was even dwelling there, and suddenly he had appeared, with the accursed Elven Prince defending him against her.

But in most confusion was Legolas, who did not understand why he allowed himself to be touched by Faunel. The enigmatic boarder had come to the Prince in more ways than one, most nights that he could; the pair was different to what Aragorn and Legolas used to be and, because of this, the Mirkwood Elf's willingness to remain with Faunel perplexed him even more. Faunel was nothing like Aragorn; the dark-haired Elf's presence evoked the most fervent of desires, and his touch was eager, yet it seemed as though there was nothing within him but sweat and flesh. Legolas remembered that Aragorn was very, very different; the Man was far gentler, and hardly cared – that is, if he cared at all – for the excitement found in lust. There was a closeness about him that felt like care… in fact felt almost as love would.

But he knew he could not return to that now. He had already allowed himself to touch the King, and now he allowed an Elven stranger to touch _him_. He no longer knew where his soul lay, and if he strove to find his answer, his heart and his mind would tell him nothing. So he hearkened to his body.

...

Legolas, with a heart filled with bliss and contentment, had made his way back from his encounters with the Star-Cloud and was about to step through the door to his bedchamber when he realized that someone was already standing before it. His heartbeat quickened. The slender figure stood in the shadows, his arms crossed; the rigid stance in the figure told Legolas that the reason for his coming was not to bid him good morning. The sun had not yet even risen. Cold, cloudy mists still lingered in the night, but not as cold as Legolas' insides suddenly turned; as an automatic reaction, he brought his mantle tighter around himself and wrapped his arms around his body, unable to contain the shivering which had involuntarily betrayed him.

There was something different about the way the figure stood before his door, an air of firm ice mingled with heated suspicion, so that Legolas could not discern what his intentions truly were. The Elf in the shadows, however, did not waste any time acting upon them. Legolas almost quailed beneath the strong gaze of the intruder, although he was able to hide it; his alarm at the sudden appearance of the invader was meshed with frustration.

'I have waited for you all night,' the soft voice said.

'Why?' Legolas retorted, his voice deep with distrust. 'I told you that everything was well – in fact, I have specifically asked you to cease coming. You need not periodically inspect my comings and goings; I am no child, and it is offensive to me that you would treat me like one.'

'Perhaps if you would stop acting like one, I would take your request into consideration,' the other Elf seethed. 'Where have you been fleeing to in the night? Everyone has been worried for you, Legolas. And it disappoints me that I can tell them nothing, because seemingly the trust has left our friendship. You will not even confide your troubles in me.'

The Elf-Prince clenched his fists. 'There are no troubles I can confide in you – the only trouble perceivable here is your obstinate, unyielding attempts to capture me in the midst of some sort of mischief-making. Indeed has the trust left our friendship, seeing as you cannot even think straightforwardly long enough to consider that maybe I, as your friend, am telling the truth about my condition. Furthermore, I can hardly believe that you have been telling everyone that I have not been in my chambers at night – that is my own business and purpose, solely, and if you would kindly promise to cease your incessant rumor-mongering and step aside, I would like to get some rest before the sunrise prompts me to return to work.'

'I hardly had to tell them at all,' responded the other Elf angrily. 'They themselves knew, they have always known. It is not only in the night that you have been vanishing like a ghost, Legolas. Or have you yourself not even noticed? You have not made yourself present, you no longer share supper with us—'

'Have I ever had any obligation to?' Legolas interrupted in disbelief.

'—And no one has said anything, but they all feel it. The suspense of sitting alongside Mithrandir and Lady Galadriel for even one hour is enough to fuel the fire that is blazing within me now. Your absence has not been subtle; rather, it has been screaming an ironic, deafening silence into the atmosphere surrounding all of us. I have not been speaking with them, therefore my ways are not _rumor-mongering_; you should be grateful that at least I am the only one who has thus far cared enough to grapple beyond the silence and venture to understand how my close friend is faring. I have been worried about you, and yet all that I receive during this attempt to comprehend this darkness is your childish accusations and inability to see beyond your own purposes.'

'How dare you call me childish!' the Prince yelled, taking a step forward.

'I was speaking of the immature nature of your insinuations, but never did I say that _you_ yourself were childish. Although, seeing as you were so quick to assume that I was referring to you, you cannot claim that my statement on your childish accusations was in any way erroneous.'

Legolas, unable to answer, bit his lip, but the anger that lay between them both blazed in invisible flames. The golden-haired Prince was still shivering, although he now shook with fury rather than dread; but the other Elf was merely standing calmly before his door with his arms crossed – which incensed him even more.

'Have your finished with your insults? Because I am not here to be foulmouthed,' Legolas seethed. 'I desire sleep. I am exhausted. Step out of the way.'

'That is hardly my problem,' the other Elf snapped. 'You chose to steal yourself away in the night, now you alone may bear the consequences. I am not allowing you to sleep just yet. This interrogation is not over.'

'You claim to be my friend, and yet you cannot even trust me. I am sorry, Elrohir, but contrary to your belief, I am mature enough to look after myself – and, sincerely speaking, I do not really care if you are too dense to believe me. Now step aside!'

'Make me,' Elrohir narrowed his eyes. Legolas suppressed the urge to strike an undignified blow at him, and then was surprised at himself for even considering it; never in his life had he ever considered harming any of his own kind. It was not the nature of the Elves to be violent outside the battlefield, and the realization of the darkness of his thought alarmed him.

The son of Elrond, who seemed to sense this, slanted his eyebrows in sorrow.

'Legolas, mellon nîn, we are all concerned for you,' he uttered slowly. 'Our spirits are filled with grief, knowing the shadows that have clouded you in recent days. I feel helpless because you have ceased to permit me to share your burdens. Mithrandir and Lady Galadriel have been wordless since you have stopped coming to gather with us; their wisdom has turned into doubt. Faramir and Éowyn are torn between staying and leaving. The halflings' hearts are breaking with anxiety. My heart has been breaking from confusion. My sister's heart has been breaking in her isolation. Aragorn—'

At this, the Mirkwood Elf almost ceased breathing.

'I am fine, Elrohir,' he interrupted. 'Do not worry about me. There is no trouble. I am fine. You are indeed a true friend; I have been blinded to it before, but there is nothing wrong—'

'You can provide no evidence for the truth of that statement, but I will not pester you. Please – I beg you only to remember that we are your friends, and that we know that something is occurring behind closed doors, whether by your doing or not. We can sense it.'

'Well, you sensed wrong!' said Legolas in exasperation. 'How on Middle-Earth would they know? Especially since you have said that I have not been making myself present in gatherings and I do not come to share in supper – which implies that you have been the only one seeing me. Well, perhaps apart from the King, whom I see when I am on duty; but even then, I do not speak to him at all. If they do not know the truth, then clearly the only thing they can choose to believe is your word.'

'…Which is impossible, because I have not spoken with them about the troubles of my heart,' Elrohir contested. 'And apart from that, I do not believe that Aragorn and I have been the only ones seeing you. Do not think that I do not have my suspicions about why you neglect to return to your bedchamber in the night.'

Legolas' insides, abruptly, turned to ice once again. He looked away, but felt the eyes of the Imladris Elf studying him. All of a sudden he felt weary and old, and he yearned for nothing more than to sleep and forget everything, to forget this argument, to forget Faunel, and to forget—

…_I cannot even say his name._

The very idea of forgetting him was bitter in the back of the Elf's mind, and he felt ill in a way impossible for Elves even as he thought the words.

'I wish to sleep,' he muttered helplessly. 'Please, Elrohir, let me into my chambers.'

Elrohir looked upon him with soft sympathy and, to Legolas' surprise, stepped aside. The golden-haired Prince again shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Hesitantly, he walked forward and opened the door, deliberately trying to evade the Imladris Elf's gaze.

'I am only concerned for your well-being,' whispered Elrohir on a final note. 'You can hide things from me, and you can lie to me. But do not forget that you cannot hide things from yourself; nor can you lie to yourself.'

The Prince halted mid-stride, his hand stiffly clenching the door-handle. His grip tightened. Then, without looking back, he released his grasp, swept into his bedchamber and violently slammed the door.

...

The affair had lasted for innumerable nights when Aragorn woke in the night, his spine having turned stiff in the hard chair in which he had fallen asleep. He cursed under his breath, incensed at once again being woken at so ungodly an hour, and wiped the sweat from his forehead; his dreams had been cold and terrible, and he wished not to remember them. The table before him was covered in mountains of parchment, and the candle that had stood proudly near the edge had burned away to nothing, so that not even the inevitable trails of smoke remained. As his gaze fell upon it, Aragorn felt a pain in his heart as he realized that he was no different from the candle: so proud and tall he once was, burning with a bright flame; now he felt small and empty, as though he had died away to nothing.

He rose from his chair and stretched his aching arms, stifling the slight yawn that threatened to escape. His awakening, as it had been for many days now, was as uneasy as his sleep. Pale moonlight was streaming in through the windows, softened by the milky clouds that accompanied the soft grey of the approaching dawn. Aragorn groaned; he knew that there was no way that he could possibly return to slumber – the coming morn was promising a biting coldness, and the Man's neck and back ached terribly. He defeatedly walked to the door and departed from the room, determined to find some means of occupying himself until he was to return to work at sunrise.

The hallways of the White Tower had never seemed so bleak. Grey floors, grey roof, grey walls… a cold, pale grey, much like the dawn, with its icy mists and mingling lights as the moon fades. Aragorn felt a slight discomfort prickling in his heart as he slowly walked through the hallways; his lone footsteps echoed, deafening in the uncomfortable silence of the late night. One pair of light footfalls, traveling alone… so alone.

He remembered his sleepless nights as he walked through beautiful Elven-glades with Arwen before they became true lovers. She always accompanied him on his walks when he was bereft of sleep; she would speak to him and comfort him as a close friend or sister would, and they would always smile together, appreciating the splendor of their surroundings. Aragorn remembered clear skies, bright stars, and the cool, calm breeze that swept over them both. He remembered cherishing her presence and her friendship, and the consolation that her company provided as they walked unshod through soft grass.

They were no longer in love, but at that moment Aragorn wished beyond anything that she was beside him again as his friend, speaking to him softly and with understanding, and hearkening to his words with the unwavering care that all who knew her had been blessed with experiencing. He wished that he could speak to her about the troubles of his heart as he had once done. She had never, ever left him alone if he wished to confide his burdens to another; she was always there, her attention rapt, her heart and mind wholly open.

The Evenstar had been as an elder sister to him ever since they'd met; the Man had fully accepted the truth that they would never again love one another the way they once had, but it had not truly dawned on him until that moment how much he still needed her as a friendly companion. He missed her genuine care and understanding, which she had been denying him since the wedding night.

Aragorn stopped, staggered and leaned against the wall in grief.

Apart from that was the matter of Legolas, which was precisely what he had desired to speak to Arwen about – even though he knew that attempting such a thing would be a deathwish. It hurt Aragorn to an immeasurable depth to know that, due to his carelessness and his lack of self-control, he had mortally wounded the two people whom he cared for more than anything in the world. He pressed his brow to the pale wall, willing for the soft coolness to calm him. It was failing; he could hardly have felt less calm in his entire life. He was growing restless and, in this state of madness, he actually considered running and rousing everyone from sleep, just to speak to someone – anyone –

'My Lord?'

Aragorn whirled around in utter shock, completely breathless.

'Faunel,' he murmured, his heart still beating quickly. 'What on Middle-Earth are you doing awake at such an early hour, and sneaking upon me whilst I was unaware? You frightened me to no end.'

The Elf, laughing, bowed slightly. 'Perhaps you _should_ have been aware, then. I crave your pardon nonetheless, my Lord… I was restless, and was seeking any handmaiden who could perhaps prepare a hot bath for me, as I am in need of it. The sun, of course, is due to rise quite soon, and at that hour we must all be ready to return to work.'

Aragorn crossed his arms; the Star-Cloud's presence made him extremely uncomfortable, especially with the knowledge that this boarder had, indeed, grown quite close to Legolas. Although the Man had longed for no more than to speak with someone at that moment, Faunel's words and mannerisms were for some inexplicable reason unbecoming. Aragorn felt an abrupt desire to cut the conversation short.

'My Lord—?'

'Return to your bedchamber,' the Man interrupted. 'I will send a handmaiden to you. What duty has Faramir assigned you this morn?'

'He has given me leadership of guard of the fifth circle,' answered Faunel, and Aragorn detected in the voice a shred of smugness. He realized all of a sudden, however, that he must not have hidden his reactions well, for a different, more uneasy expression crossed Faunel's features. The Man quickly gave a nod.

'I see.'

'—Lord Aragorn, what troubles you?' the Elf said softly, with a tone of voice that Aragorn refused to believe was concern. 'Do not embrace the shadows… it will destroy you.'

The Man, feeling suddenly heated, turned his sharp gaze onto Faunel's eyes. The beautiful Elf did not quaver; in fact, he seemed completely unaffected by the burning challenge that the Man no longer bothered to keep to himself. It irritated him even more.

'Why are you awake at this hour, Star-Cloud? You have not answered me.'

The Elf smirked shamelessly. It seemed, suddenly, as though he had actually _desired_ for Aragorn to ask that question. The Man bit his lower lip, restraining his tongue from letting loose anything undignified.

'Ah, but why spoil the surprise? I am sure that you, out of all people here, would be the first to find out for yourself, Lord Aragorn. In fact, I believe that the reason you are also awake and wandering the hallways at so early an hour would be because you already know.'

The Man froze. He had had his suspicions, indeed, but now that he had let the question escape his tongue, he felt that he desperately did not wish to hear the answer. He held comfort in the fact that Faunel's statement had not been entirely true, but the words that did hold some truth made him feel utterly cold; he bowed his head slightly, and did not see the sudden impish twinkle in Faunel's eyes.

'I do not know of what you speak,' he hissed through clenched teeth. 'I am here because I could not return to slumber, not because I desired to spy on you. You believe that, as King of the White City, I would have no better ways to pass the time?'

The Elf merely raised a mischievous eyebrow at this, and Aragorn, with irritation, knew that Faunel was skeptical of his words. It took him a tremendous amount of effort to suppress his bubbling annoyance.

'You truly do not know?' Faunel lit up playfully, and the Man inwardly shuddered – he was suddenly reminded of the day Faunel had first arrived at Minas Tirith, when the Elf had spoken so boldly before him that Aragorn could even see the obvious surprise that crossed Faramir's face. He utterly despised the spritelike nature of Faunel's character – he would have preferred anything else, even disdain; at least outward hostility would have given the King a rational reason to banish this stranger from his lands. He pressed his lips tightly together as the Elf walked closer to him.

'Forget it,' said Aragorn darkly, taking an unconscious step backward. 'I can already guess that, whatever it is you are to tell me, it would most likely be unpleasant for me to hear,'

'Oh, I do not deny it indeed may be,' answered Faunel softly, curling one of his cold, soft hands around Aragorn's own and leaning forward. 'But I wish to tell you anyway; this might even prove to be entertaining. Even though none here is likely to have known about it – seeing as they do not know I even exist, which is absolutely no problem on my part – I have guessed where your wavering thoughts have gone, my Lord; I can guess why your wife no longer desires you. And, furthermore, I can guess where his current darkness comes from, why it surrounds him.'

'Who are you talking about?' Aragorn demanded, his heart quickening. Faunel leered, leaned forward even more and brought his lips to the Human's ear.

'I had first taken him long before this,' he whispered. 'I am awake this early because I took him, because I knew him.'

The Dúnadan sprang away, horrified, as though the words had burned him. He gazed upon the Elf in horror, speechless, as though all rational thought had been drained out of him. But Faunel only smiled, and released the Man's gentle hand, which had gone limp. He could see in the faint light that Aragorn shivered, although he doubted that it was only from the cause of the coldness of the morning.

The Elf bowed slightly.

'I will be expecting the handmaiden before I am to go to duty, my Lord,' he said and, raising his chin with a small grin, promptly turned and walked away towards his chambers.

...

When the sun had risen and the stirring of movement could be heard from beyond the windows, Legolas rose from his bed in the Fellowship house, dreading the moment when he must inevitably leave his chambers and, possibly, have to encounter Elrohir in any way. The morning was bright and beautiful, but the Elf-prince felt no desire to share in its joy; the crisp, fresh air was biting to him, and the pale white light blinding. He despised every ray of sunlight streaming through his windows that told him that, as Chief Advisor of the King, he was due to return to service.

Fortunately, some days he had not needed to see Elessar, for which he was grateful, and this day was one of those days. On such days the Dúnadan had not expected him to do more than to aid him with the coordination of scheduled tasks, and perhaps a few decisions that needed to be made; these Éowyn and Elladan faithfully took turns delivering to his chambers in the form of paperwork, on the days that it was needed. Legolas, sliding his day-robes upon his shoulders, frowned at the thought of this work.

The door creaked open, and the Prince was surprised; Éowyn and Elladan were both very respectful, and always knocked. However, everything made complete sense when he saw that this morn it was neither the wife of Faramir nor the son of Elrond who had come to deliver the parchments, but Faunel.

He smiled weakly as Faunel entered the room and closed the door behind him.

'You should be bringing me breakfast, not work,' Legolas said. The dark-haired Elf, able to hear the slight grin in Legolas' voice, laid the stack of parchment upon the nearby table and smirked.

'I came across Lady Éowyn, and thought that I may as well bring these to you, for I would be able to see you at the same time.'

'You would only distract me from my duties, Star-Cloud,' the Prince laughed softly. Faunel swept over to him, embraced him and kissed him intensely.

'Perhaps, seeing as you enjoy being close to me, that is not such a bad thing,' the dark-haired Elf whispered, moving his kisses to the Prince's tender nape. 'Although, I cannot linger here long; I must also return my guard in the fifth circle. I have heard from Lady Éowyn that your father wishes to speak to you.'

Legolas groaned in frustration and pulled away. 'Oh, for the love of Manwë. Every time I have had to see him, he has had nothing pleasing to say to me. I do not understand why everyone is treating me like a child; I have learned my lesson since the last time I made a rash decision.'

Faunel's eyes gleamed.

'And what would that have been?' he raised an eyebrow suggestively. Legolas, looking at the expression upon his face, suddenly felt uneasy.

'Nothing important,' he uttered. 'Come, I am not leaving you in my chambers alone. Knowing you, you would probably have left nasty surprises for me by the time I return. Your friskiness reminds me of Merry and Pippin.'

'Who?' Faunel asked, genuinely confused. Legolas, opening the door for him, grinned playfully.

'It doesn't matter.'

...

Aragorn waited hesitantly by the door, dreading what the King of Mirkwood would say to him. He had meshed feelings about what was occurring inside the chamber; Thranduil was speaking to his son, but of course, the Man could not hear anything behind the door. He wished suddenly that he could have restrained himself from any foolish actions – he had rushed immediately to the Mirkwood King at daybreak and spoke to him, without thinking of what Legolas' reaction would be. He covered his face with his hands. If anything, he would be lucky if the Elf-Prince would even be willing to look at him again, let alone speak to him.

The door creaked open, which gave Aragorn's heart a nasty jolt, and the conversing voices of Thranduil and his son were suddenly clear. He wished suddenly that he could just walk away; the last thing he wanted to see now was Legolas' anger. However, he froze in his place; he could see the Prince's golden head slowly backing away from the chamber. The Man noticed, suddenly, that there was in fact no anger at all in the way father and son were speaking together.

'…I cannot say that this is what I have been hoping for, but I am grateful nonetheless,' Legolas' gentle voice rang out. 'There has been too much darkness recently; it is the last thing we need, especially seeing as the war has just ended.'

'I must be honest with you and say that that is the only reason for my decision,' Aragorn could hear Thranduil answering, 'otherwise I would have preferred that you found some other means of redeeming yourself. My approval is not absolute, and my acceptance is grudging, but I am glad that you are grateful that I have at least not refused you.'

'Thank you, my Lord.'

'You are welcome,' Thranduil answered. 'I believe Estel is waiting outside. Please send him in, I wish to speak to him.'

There was a sudden, uneasy silence that made Aragorn desire not to be there at all. His breath was constricted as Legolas finally emerged from the chamber, his eyes devoid of emotion. He looked upon Aragorn without any anger, but without any amusement, either; the Man willed himself not to tremble. He felt utterly, utterly ill. It seemed obvious at this moment that his friendship with the golden-haired Elf could not have been worse. The Prince, however, looked as though he could care less.

'Father wishes to see you,' he said plainly, and began striding away without looking back. Aragorn thought he saw a familiar gleam at Legolas' throat as he had turned; a painful memory suddenly returned to him as he watched the Elf's retreating form, a memory of blurred boundaries between worlds and clouded senses of judgement, something so beautiful but at the same time something he preferred never to remember again. A memory of a time he had been close enough to admire the silver creature, with its long bowed neck and enormous wings…

_It will leave a mark._

'Elessar?'

Surprised, interrupted from his state of reminiscence, Aragorn turned bewildered eyes to the Mirkwood King, who was studying him with concern.

'Are you well, Elessar?'

Aragorn, swallowing, slowly nodded. Thranduil, however, did not look convinced.

'Well, come and enter,' the Elf-lord said curtly. 'There is something important which I wish to discuss with you.'

Leaving the door open, he disappeared into the room. Aragorn bowed his head and breathed deeply, the strong memory of the creature now fading to the back of his mind. For one brief moment he wondered what it was, what it meant, why it affected him so; and suddenly, a strange, inconceivable idea flittered past him… he wondered what it was _trying to say_.

He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and entered the room. He must be mad, thinking such a thing – but then again, he realized that everything he had done since the wedding night had not exactly been rationally thought through before he had done it. The Man felt another surge of discomfort flow through him as he beheld the expression upon the Mirkwood King's face; clearly, he was becoming less adept to concealing his emotions.

'Are you sure you are well?' Thranduil repeated disbelievingly. Aragorn took the seat before him.

'Yes, my Lord,' he said in a clear voice, although Thranduil sensed the uneasiness that lay behind it. However, desiring to pursue the matter no further, he ignored it and went straight to the point.

'I have spoken to my son, Estel,' he said. 'I have told him that you had suspicions of his encounters with the Elf-boarder, and that you had informed me for his best interests. You need not worry, however; I was not foolish enough to tell him of what that boarder had told you. Although it seems like it would not have mattered if I had, because he confessed it.'

Aragorn felt as though his heart had frozen to ice.

'He – he did?' the Man stuttered. 'That is a surprise. I had expected him to deny it.'

'So had I,' said Thranduil. 'But that matters little, because that is only part of what I wished to discuss with you. I must be honest with you, Estel – I believed that his actions on the night of your wedding were reckless beyond my expectation, and I must once again apologize on his behalf; his lack of judgement had shattered your marriage, and old ties were broken. For that, I am truly sorry.'

Aragorn nodded, but did not understand what the Elf-lord was trying to say.

'I wish, however, to forget that matter, and look forward instead – I have forgiven him because he had given his word to me never again to lose sight of reasonable thought, and I am also confident that you, Elessar, being a Man so great and valiant your entire life, would be able to reconcile with your wife. For his actions, I desired no less than for my son to attempt to redeem himself, and he has indeed shown his effort. For now, I believe that we should forget the matter of the Star-Cloud.'

The Man could hardly believe what he was hearing.

'…Forget, my Lord?'

'Yes. As I said, he has indeed shown to me that he is attempting to retrieve himself from the darkness which had thus far clouded his thought, and I have faith that he will not end up diving deeper into it. I am grateful that my patience has allowed me to forgive him, as he has proven that he is willing to supplant his innocence with knowledge and maturity; however, this matter regarding the Star-Cloud is highly insignificant to your concerns, which should be with your people. For now, I believe that my son will be learning to take care of himself; and although I greatly appreciate your regard for his well-being, I would indeed prefer that he no longer acted as a distraction to you, so that you may be able to bring into focus the interests of your people and your reconciliation with the Evenstar.'

Aragorn, roused, rose to his feet. 'What are you saying?'

Seeing this upsurge of steam, Thranduil's eyes, suddenly, became cold.

'I am saying, Aragorn,' the Elf said in a tight-lipped manner, 'that I do not want you to interfere with Legolas and Faunel's alliance.'

(To be continued)


End file.
